chew me up, but don’t spit me out

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53460598.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black
Characters: Regulus Black, James Potter, Barty Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, Pandora
Rosier, Lily Evans, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, Sirius
Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter's Aston Martin, Jaqie Couvent,
Other(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting,
Strippers & Strip Clubs, POV Regulus Black, Wealth, CEO James Potter,
he is FILTHY rich, aka "the Rich Simp", stripper Regulus Black, Getting
Together, Falling In Love, Explicit Sexual Content, Found Family,
Angst, there's a heavy dose of Black brothers angst in this one, Happy
Ending, Smoking, Alcohol, Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Latino James
Potter, James' thighs were made to be ridden, Past Regulus Black/Barty
Crouch Jr./Evan Rosier, Minor Regulus Black/Male Character(s), Daddy
Kink, Sugar daddy/baby dynamics, Dom/sub Undertones, off-screen
discussions about safe words happen, Gender Identity, Genderfluid
Regulus Black, Regulus uses he/him but prefers that others use
they/them, there's a shift in later chapters to they/them in Regulus'
narrative, emphasis on gender euphoria not dysphoria, James calls
Regulus 'Princess', me and the limos are at it again, inappropriate use of
champagne, James Potter has a stockings kink, Regulus Black has a
tongue piercing, Regulus Black's Raging Praise Kink, Jegulus
Vers/Switch Agenda, Jegulus, Background Relationships, Additional
Warnings In Author's Note
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of chew me up
Collections: Jegulus that i loved <3333, i will still read these when I’m old, fics that
make me astral project
Stats: Published: 2024-02-03 Updated: 2024-06-29 Words: 214,721 Chapters:
22/25
 chew me up, but don’t spit me out
by damagecontrol

Summary

The thing is, Regulus never lets himself get worked up over clients. Most of them aren’t
worth getting worked up for. Married men. Divorced men. Newly single, desperate men.
Overly eager men. Fathers and husbands and boyfriends and I’m just experimenting, this isn’t
my usual men.

This profession has made him jaded, but it also bought him a Porsche Taycan with cash. Wins
and losses.

But this man? Well, he’s a switch in the natural order of it all.

Or, Regulus is a grad student dancing on the side and James is his regular client…and then
some. How many lines can they blur before it’s all said and done?

Notes

hello! i finally got around to updating the tags on this so they're a liiiiiittle more organized
than before, and i figured i might as well also update the intro note since it's been more than 4
months since this fic was originally put on AO3.

CMU was borne out of spite when i received hate post-sweet poison, but honestly, i'm
thanking those people because they unintentionally gave me a story that's incredibly special
to me. the story itself hasn't changed from its initial inception, but the pieces i've discovered
about this Regulus along the way have enriched it and made it something i'm incredibly
proud of. Regulus' story has allowed me to explore themes of gender identity and expression
that i myself struggle with; it touches on addiction in a way that's incredibly personal to me;
and it's a tale of falling together, apart, and then together again (but better off than before).

as is the case with most of my work, there are mature/adult themes in this. i've added
potential trigger/content warnings in the details dropdown for those who are concerned about
any of the mentioned tags. and as always: don't like, don't read. it's free to click out of this
window if you think this story isn't for you. guest comments are off to prevent anonymous
negativity. like i said, this has become an incredibly personal story. if you don't like its
direction, you're welcome to stop reading and find another! but if you decide to take a chance
on this little love of mine, then i hope you enjoy <3
 trigger/content warnings

this fic is first and foremost for alex, who is responsible for the art within it <3 you can also
thank him for mexican james and helping with translations :) basically, just thank alex. his
enthusiasm for this fic is the reason it's grown to what it is <3

Author's Note Last Updated: 12 Jun 2024

See the end of the work for more notes

 i’m as high as your hopes

The club’s private rooms are dimly lit. Tucked away near the back, they’re meant to keep
dancers and their clients safe from prying eyes. It gives the illusion of intimacy, though strict
rules remain in place that say clients are not to touch their dancers.

Unless the dancer is Regulus Black, and the client is…well, this one.

“Regulus, baby, do you have any idea how good you look right now?”

It’s said no better than a purr in his ear, and Regulus arches his back. He drops his head
against a strong shoulder. Turns his face into a neck that always smells of some ungodly
expensive cologne. He’ll admit he’s tried to find it, but after testing every sample in the
department store, he’s convinced it’s not as common as Dior Sauvage.

He shifts to bring his mouth closer to the man’s ear. “You’re not meant to use my real name. I
never should’ve told you. You’ll get me in trouble.”

“Love, you are trouble.”

He’s not wrong. Not exactly. Regulus isn’t this…giving to his other clients. He doesn’t let
them call him pet names, but he lets this man call him a whole range of things. It started with
love, but sometimes, when the song is particularly sexy and Regulus moves with the fluidity
of a serpent, it slips into baby.

It’s only when this man is truly gone for him, all doe-eyed and white-knuckled, that he slips
up, reminds Regulus he broke the cardinal rule, and combines his given name with an
endearment.

He hates that he's come to love it.

Regulus shifts his gaze to the man’s left hand. It’s being good where it lays wrapped tight
around the edge of the plush red couch. There’s no ring. He checks every night this client
comes to see him, but this in and of itself means nothing. Plenty of men remove and pocket
their rings before stepping in the club. Honestly, he isn’t sure why. It’s not as though the
dancers care one way or the other. Their job is to help create a fantasy, not fret over wedding
rings.

And yet…

There’s a rumbling groan against his back when Regulus rolls his hips. It’s all part of the
dance, but this client in particular acts as though it’s brand new material each time.

“Let me touch you tonight,” he murmurs just loud enough to be heard over the music’s low
bass. “Please, love.”

He’s asked almost every night lately. Regulus only has so much resolve left. “Why should I?”

“Because if you asked me to, I would get on all fours and beg until my throat bleeds.”

Regulus can’t help but laugh. His breath ruffles dark curls, and the man shivers underneath
him. There’s a day or so worth of stubble on his jaw. Round glasses framed in thin gold that
would look ridiculous on anyone else, but do this man plenty of favors. His dress shirt is
rumpled, his tie long gone. His suit jacket’s location is a mystery.

“You would do that for me?” asks Regulus, his voice dipped in honey.

“Yo haría todo por ti.”

Regulus bites down hard on his bottom lip. “Do you really think speaking Spanish is going to
get you a yes?”

“It was worth a shot.”

Here is what Regulus knows about him: he’s a businessman. Unmarried (maybe). Late
twenties, but if he keeps up the five o’clock shadow, he might pass for early thirties—in the
best way. His eyes are hazel with a cunning sort of light in them; he’s marked Regulus as
much as Regulus has marked him. He’s tall, broad, well-muscled, but not in danger of
slipping into Gym Bro status. His skin is golden brown, smooth and unmarred, but Regulus
didn’t miss the delicate black lines of a tattoo under his collar.

Regulus has wondered for weeks what it could be. A sprawling back design? Something
small at the top of his spine? An eighteen-year-old’s mistake? A meaningful piece? No one
ever lives in his head like this.

The thing is, Regulus never lets himself get worked up over clients. Most of them aren’t
worth getting worked up for. Married men. Divorced men. Newly single, desperate men.
Overly eager men. Fathers and husbands and boyfriends and I’m just experimenting, this isn’t
my usual men.

This profession has made him jaded, but it also bought him a Porsche Taycan with cash. Wins
and losses.
But this man? Well, he’s a switch in the natural order of it all.

He showed up one night on his own. Not unusual—plenty of men choose to come alone—but
still an enigma. He ordered whiskey from the bar, found a seat somewhere central but not too
close to any singular stage, and then…nothing.

Regulus had watched curiously that first night. He hadn’t been able to help it. Nor could he
help the slight burn of envy stoked in his gut when other dancers tried their hand at enticing
him—only for the man to shake his head and, with a small smile, mouth, No, thank you.

He had manners. Proper ones. He denied their most popular dancers with nothing but a shake
of his head and demure smile. He was respectful each time. Even the ones Regulus was sure
would get him to buy a private dance were turned away.

Yet, night after night, he came, bought his whiskey, sat, and then…nothing.

“It’s a fucking strip club!” Barty had complained after closing one night. “Hottest guy to
come in this place in ages and he won’t bite? Won’t pay? It doesn’t make any sense. What the
hell does he want?”

The answer, as it turns out, is Regulus.

One night, instead of his usual seat in the club’s not-quite middle, he sat directly in front of
Regulus’ stage. The timing was perfect—he’d just come back from break, climbed the stairs,
but before he could even set his hands on cool metal, he found hazel eyes behind gold frames
staring up at him.

He had no explanation for the way his heart lurched right into his throat.

The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees and whiskey glass dangling callously from his
fingertips. “You’re the only one who watches me but hasn’t tried anything.”

“Maybe I’m not interested.”

“Then why do you watch me night after night?”

Regulus had to curl his hand around the stage’s metal pole to keep himself upright. “Who
says I’m watching you?”

The man’s lips twitched. “What if I told you I want a private dance?”

“Then I’d ask how much you’re willing to pay for it.”

“Standard is two hundred, no?”

“Is that all you think I’m worth?” Regulus swung himself around on the pole to show off a
perfect view of the snake winding itself around his bare thigh. Like clockwork, the man’s
eyes dropped right to it. Regulus smirked. “A shame. I might have—”

“A thousand, then.”
That gave Regulus pause. He froze, gripping the pole for dear life. “What?”

“I think you’re worth far more, but how about we start there?”

“And after that?”

The man only shrugged. “We’ll make it two.”

It was ludicrous. But Regulus still led him to a private room, performed his best set, and
stood, gawking, when the man passed him a crisp wad of banknotes. After that, it became
their unspoken routine.

Regulus has never felt anything but distaste for his clients. Lukewarm neutrality at best. Mild
amusement for the better ones. He’s had to swallow bile when hands touched him regardless
of the rules. The cold press of a gold band on his skin makes for an awful truth.

But this man? Oh, Regulus is playing a dangerous, dangerous game with him.

He thinks they both might know it.

“It’s been a month,” he hears the man say now. His voice is low, rumbling against Regulus’
back. He turns to press his mouth against Regulus’ exposed throat. He’s the only client who
ever gets away with this. “If you won’t let me touch you properly, then at least let me tell you
my name.”

“I don’t want to know it.”

If he doesn’t know it, then this man remains a mystery. Most of his clients opt not to give
their true names. They don’t know his, he doesn’t know theirs—it creates a mutual unknown.
Adds to the fantasy. He’s no more real, no more flesh and blood, than a creature in their
dreams.

He fucked up bad when he told this client his real name. It was an accident. Some weak part
of him wanted this man to know it. He’s done his best not to look too hard at the reason why.

“Name your price, love. How much for you to let me be honest with you?”

Regulus runs his tongue over his lower lip. He’s close enough to the man’s ear he tastes skin
that’s not his own. “A hundred thousand.”

“Done.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.” It’s a long, pained groan when Regulus reaches between strong thighs to cup
the unmistakable hardness pressed against him. This man’s back tattoo is not the only thing
that’s lived rent-free in Regulus’ mind. Not when he’s felt this pushed against his ass almost
every night he works. “Fuck. Baby, please.”

Hook, line, and sinker—every single time.

Regulus shifts, gets to his feet, and turns. He slides back into the lap of a stranger who isn’t
one anymore. Not really. He knows very little and a whole lot about this man all at the same
time. “I never want to know the names of my clients,” he says, taking a strong chin in his
hand. “It’s bad business.”

“And yet, I know yours.”

“That was a mistake. You should forget it.”

“Regulus.”

“Forget it.”

“Regulus.”

But this time, it’s said with lips ghosted over the hollow of Regulus’ throat. He knows his
self-control is slipping. It’s been a month—how is he meant to keeping surviving this? He’s
not allowed to let clients touch him, no matter how much they might’ve paid for a dance, but
he’s letting this one kiss his throat.

He is so, so fucked.

“Regulus,” said again, sweeter this time, and oh, that’s the tip of a tongue on his collarbone.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, f— “What if I told you that I want to take you to dinner? A proper one. I’ll
treat you to something nice. Something you deserve.”

“Like a—a date?”

“If you’ll allow it.”

Regulus scrambles for something—anything—to serve as an excuse. Because he can’t say

no. He doesn’t want to. But he can’t say yes…can he? So he aims for coy and asks, “What if
I told you I’m already seeing someone?”

He feels the grin against his skin. “Y que, ¿él está aqui?”

“I don’t speak Spanish,” Regulus grits out, fingers digging into strong shoulders. He’s
stopped dancing, most likely because of the mouth on his throat. His Adam’s apple has never
received this much attention, and he’s not fond of how his body threatens to react if this man
keeps it up.

“I asked if he’s here with us.”

Regulus scoffs. “No, he’s clearly not.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

He should not allow what he’s allowing right now, which is the way this man nibbles at his
collarbone. Tasting, but only a little. Regulus’ brain is long gone when he admits, “No, he’s
not.”
“Then I’ll ask again: what if I told you I want to take you to dinner?”

“And then what?”

Regulus can’t help but ask. He might not have a boyfriend, but he has…something. A fling,
perhaps. A guy he met last semester who sometimes comes over, sometimes stays the night.
Sometimes makes him laugh or takes him on casual dinner dates.

Besides, he’s been asked this question before. This isn’t the first client to think he has a shot.
He is the first client to be within range, but Regulus still expects to hear him say, And then I’ll
try to fuck you. It’s what he’s heard before. It’s what he knows will come when the man pulls
away.

So it takes him by complete surprise when instead he hears, “And then I’ll take you home,
walk you to your door, and wish you a pleasant rest of your evening.”

“Sorry?”

“Do you want me to say it again?”

“No. I heard you. I just—That’s it?”

A coy grin, and the man tilts his head. “Did you want something else?”

“I—No.” Yes, yes, very much yes. “No, I just… I didn’t expect a gentleman’s answer. Men
always want something from me when they pay. Kissing. Touching. Sex. They seem to think
buying me dinner means I’ll end up on my knees from sheer gratitude.”

“I imagine you can buy your own meals.”

“I can.”

The man shifts, and his arousal presses harder against Regulus’ ass. “Then I’m not buying
you dinner because I want something from you. If you want honesty—” He shifts again,
laughing softly when Regulus gasps despite himself, “—then I’ll admit I want to fuck you
more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Regulus opens his mouth, but the man holds up a hand.

“But, I want it because you want it. Not because I paid for it, or because you think I expect it
since I bought you dinner.”

Well. That took all the wind out of Regulus’ sails. What is he meant to say to that? It’s far
better than the men on dating apps, who’ve completely forgotten Hi, how are you? is the
proper way to start a conversation. And it would be a lie to say he’s not at least a little
interested…

Somewhat defeated, he rests his palms on a toned chest, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Just dinner?”
“Just dinner.”

“And you won’t make me feel like shit if I don’t want to sleep with you?”

There’s the soft press of a thumb to where Regulus has started to worry at his bottom lip,
teeth almost breaking skin. “Love, you can tell me to fuck off at the end of the night if you
want. You might not like me under different lighting.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and tongues the inside of his cheek. “I don’t think lighting will make a
difference.”

“You never know. Restaurants aren’t known for their impeccable lighting choices.”

“Maybe you will tell me to fuck off at the end of the night. Hm?”

“Doubtful. I paid a lot of money to get you to notice me, and I did it for a reason.”

A dubious laugh bursts out of him. “What? Are you—You paid me thousands of dollars to…
to notice you?”

“Well, yeah. I waited every night, but then you didn’t come, so I thought maybe…”

“Oh, my God. You’re an idiot. I noticed you the second you walked in. Even you knew I was
watching you!”

The man’s brows pinch together. “Oh. That was just a guess. I thought… And I didn’t want to
push, but…”

Regulus shakes his head, fighting back another laugh. “Fine. Tell me. Your stupid name. Just
tell it to me.”

It’s a million dollar grin. Hell, it might even be priceless.

“James,” he says. “My name is James.”

Regulus’ shift ends a little after three a.m. The club will be open until seven, but considering
it’s a Wednesday night—or Thursday morning, depending on how you look at it—there’s
almost no one left to entertain. A few stragglers still linger, but come five or so, it’ll be
barren.

“Just a Coke,” he tells Evan, resting his chin on his forearms. The bar is cool on his heated
skin. His last dance left him a little exhausted. “I have to drive home.”

Evan snorts. “It’s also a Wednesday—”

“Thursday.”

“—and I might judge you a little if you drank vodka at three in the morning on a
Wednesday.”

“Thursday,” Regulus corrects again.

Evan waves a hand. “It’s not a new day until I go to sleep. For me, it’s still Wednesday.” He
scoops ice into a glass and uses the soda gun to pour Regulus’ drink. “Here. Feel free to tip
me.”

“No?” Regulus makes a face at him. “I hardly make anything on Wednesdays—”

“Thought it was Thursday?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He sticks out his tongue when Evan starts laughing. “My point still stands.”

Evan leans against the wall counter and starts drying freshly washed glasses. “Actually, it
does not. I know which client came to see you tonight. And darling—” He sets a glass down
with finality, “—you and I both know you made more tonight than most of the dancers make
in two or three shifts.”

The banknotes weigh heavy in Regulus’ pocket—all £3,000 worth of them. James tried to
give him four thousand, said, Here, take this because you finally know my name, but Regulus
had adamantly declined. Two thousand is fine, he’d argued. It’s our usual.

James hadn’t left the private room until Regulus took at least three.

“How do you know about him?”

“I work the bar, babe. I know every man who’s in here, and I know how much they pay.”

Regulus takes the straw between his teeth but doesn’t drink. “Barty.”

“Bingo.”

“Fucking hell. I told him—”

“Yeah, well, I fucked him. So.” Evan grabs another glass, grinning cheekily. “I always win. If
you wanted him to keep your secrets, you should’ve maintained the polycule.”

Regulus scowls. “We’re still friends. He said he would keep it a secret.”

“And I said, ‘Give me the scoop on Regulus’ new client or I won’t suck your dick for a
month.’ Who do you think he’s more afraid of?” Evan snorts a laugh and starts drying
another glass. He’s lean, of average height, and covered in tattoos. There isn’t an inch of him
that isn’t inked—not even his face, where a small rose sits on his right temple. “Anyway, I
saw he came tonight, so I imagine you’re about two thousand pounds richer than you were
six hours ago.”
“Three,” Regulus mumbles around the straw still between his teeth.

“Mm?”

“Three. I’m three thousand pounds richer.”

Evan pauses, tattooed hand and towel still shoved in the glass. “The fuck does this guy even
do?”

“CEO, I think. When I asked, he just said ‘businessman.’ But I’ve had plenty of clients who
were businessmen and didn’t have three grand to blow.”

“Who the hell is he? Jeff fucking Bezos?”

“I hope not. Jeff Bezos is bald, isn’t he? No, thank you.” Regulus finally takes a sip of his
Coke, snickering at the way Evan’s brows shoot clear to his hairline.

“Not at all surprised your issue with Jeff Bezos is that he’s bald. Isn’t he also, like, sixty-
something?”

Regulus shrugs. “Plenty of hot guys are sixty.”

“Just not Jeff Bezos, apparently.”

“Just not Jeff Bezos.”

Evan shakes his head in disbelief. “Have you learned anything about him?”

“About who? Jeff Bezos?”

“No, you asshole.” Evan shoots him a tired look. “Your rich as fuck client.”

“His name is James. Late twenties. Maybe a CEO.” Regulus rests his elbows on the counter
and squishes his cheeks on his fists, the straw still between his teeth. He sips from his drink
every so often. “He wants to take me on a date, though.”

“Oh?”

“I gave him my number.”

“Oh?”

Regulus says nothing. He takes a long sip of his Coke and stares over Evan’s shoulder.
There’s a mirror along the wall behind the bar, and he can see the rest of the club reflected
there. Barty and Evan both work until four. The difference is Barty dances like Regulus. But
he’s nowhere to be seen, which means he’s somewhere in a private room.

“What about the new guy?” asks Evan. He’s nearly finished drying the last few glasses. “The
one you just started seeing. Barry? Benny? Am I close?”

“No. His name is Benjy.”

“Benjy. There it is. Weird fucking name, so I hope the dick is decent.”

Regulus shrugs, gaze still trained on the mirror. “It’s passable.”

“Ouch. That bad?”

“Just something to pass the time.” He swallows the last of his Coke and pushes the glass
across the counter for another. “He’s nice, but he’s… Well, that’s it, really. He’s nice.
Studying something something history? I don’t remember. I met him in the library.” Regulus
shrugs again. “Seemed easy.”

Evan huffs a laugh and slides the newly filled glass back across the counter. “Low hanging
fruit isn’t your usual style, Reggie.”

“I don’t need distractions right now. This is my last semester, and I can’t be arsed to have an
actual relationship. Benjy is…”

“Nice?”

Regulus points a finger gun at Evan. “Bingo.”

“And James? What is he?”

Certified menace. Ungodly rich. Very fuckable.

Regulus’ type.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” he answers instead, finishing his Coke in a few quick gulps before he
reaches to set the glass down on Evan’s side of the counter. “Tell Barty I said goodbye. I’m
beat, and I don’t feel like waiting until four for him to finish his shift.”

“He’ll be wounded and call this betrayal.”

“Offer him a blowjob and he’ll get over it. Promise.” Regulus slips off the barstool and
snatches his backpack off the counter. His Docs are untied and loose on his feet, but he
doesn’t bother to do up the laces. He shrugs on his coat over his jumper, waves farewell to
the bouncer, and slips out into the chilly December evening.

He tries not to think about the weight of his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. He gave
James his number a few hours ago, but there’s yet to be a text. No Hey, it’s James! or Is this
Regulus? or even a simple Hello. The absence of it makes Regulus’ skin itch.

Was he a complete fool to hand his phone number over to a client?

He knows almost nothing about this man. James Potter, he’d said, offering up his last name
even though Regulus thinks it would’ve been better not to know it. A first name is bad
enough. Then again, this guy also said he plans to take Regulus on a date. Learning more
about him will be inevitable, and last names are usually the first piece offered anyway.

But where’s the text?

“Chill out,” he mutters, unlocking the driver’s side of his car. It’s sleek black, and the interior
is all leather in a dark emerald color. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever bought for himself. “He’ll
text if he wants, and if he doesn’t then he can fuck off.”

Not even he believes his own pep talk, though. There’s a reason his heart lodged itself in his
throat the first time—and every time after—he met James. He’s interested, much as he
doesn’t want to be, and it has nothing to do with the thousands of pounds worth of banknotes
he’s pocketed since this all started.

There’s something about James that draws him in. He barely knows the man—but he wants
to. And that’s the allure of it all, isn’t it? James is a mystery, a puzzle Regulus can put
together if he gathers enough pieces.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket as soon as he sits down. Despite his chill out pep talk, he
scrambles for it.

Benjy
Hey!
I’m up late studying. You off of work?

Regulus scowls and drops his head back against the seat. He presses the Porsche’s push to
start button, and focuses on the purr of its engine. Is he even in the mood to talk to Benjy
right now?

His phone buzzes again.

This time, he checks it with a bit less enthusiasm. It’s probably Benjy asking if he can stop by
now that Regulus is off. It’s within his right, considering they’re a not-thing thing. It’s a
somewhat unspoken agreement that the occasional booty call is allowed, but calling one
another boyfriend is not.

Regulus isn’t really sure how this works. Truthfully, he doesn’t date much. Or whatever he
and Benjy are doing. Aren’t doing. Whatever. The point is—

Regulus blinks at his phone. Benjy did send a third text, and it is a predictable can I come
over? moment, but in his distraction, he missed the fourth buzz.

Unknown
Hi, it’s James. Is this Regulus?

It was sent one minute ago. If he replies now, is that too eager? Should he wait? And what the
hell is James still doing up at three a.m.? He’s a businessman, so their hours are weird, but…
Is it a coincidence? Did Regulus tell James when he got off, or did James figure it out?

Regulus gnaws on his bottom lip until he tastes iron.

Two minutes. Three. Four.

“Oh, cut this shit out,” he snarls, unlocking his phone.

Regulus
It is.

The response is immediate. James has his read receipts on.

Unknown
Oh, thank God. I was worried for a sec.
Sorry it took me a while to text you.
I had a few work calls but they just finished.

What the hell? This feels like a weird dating Twilight Zone moment, and he can’t explain
why. He waits for another ellipses, but when one doesn’t come, he replies:

Regulus
It’s fine. I just got off.

Unknown
Impeccable timing on my part.

Regulus
Or you’re stalking me.

Unknown
I mean… Would you blame me?

Regulus
Then should I make your contact name Joe Goldberg?

Unknown
Call me whatever you want.
But who’s Joe Goldberg?
Regulus actually laughs out loud in the silence of his car. It shouldn’t surprise him that James
—Mr. Businessman and Possible CEO—doesn’t have time to watch Netflix. Still, it’s
endearing, the naïveté of it. Then there’s call me whatever you want, which feels like it
shouldn’t go unaddressed.

He types. Deletes. Types again.

Regulus
No one important.
What do you want me to call you?

His heart beats a steady rhythm in his throat. Does it sound too flirtatious? Oh, hell. He takes
his coat off in a huff and tosses it in the backseat. It’s too warm in his car now. The clock on
the dash reads 3:46 a.m. He’s exhausted, in desperate need of sleep, but his phone buzzes on
his thigh.

Unknown
It’s probably not a good idea for a contact name.
James is fine for now :)

Regulus’ curiosity spikes, as does his body’s heat index.

For now?

He hates the way it makes him pull his lips between his teeth in an effort to stop his grin from
spreading. He will not under any circumstances let himself have butterflies for this man.
Agreeing to a date was bad enough. But he knows the horror stories of dancers who develop
real relationships with their clients.

Most of them are leading entire double lives.

He adds James’ number to his phone, opting for something impersonal—James. That’s it. No
more, no less. When his phone buzzes again, his heart drops from his throat and right out his
ass.

Benjy
Everything okay?
It’s been fifteen minutes since Benjy’s third text, which means Regulus has been sat here in
the club’s parking lot grinning at his phone like a fool for far too long.

Regulus
Sorry, I was talking with Evan. I’m off.

Benjy
Cool! I’m done studying.
Can I come over?

Regulus inhales a grounding breath deep into his lungs. He closes his eyes, exhales, and
weighs his options. It’s been a few days since he last saw Benjy. He’s exhausted, but he
knows this conversation with James will keep him up all night if he’s not careful. His ability
to overthink even the period at the end of a sentence is unmatched.

If anyone asks, he’ll tell them sex is leagues better than popping Ambien.

Regulus
I’ll be home in twenty.

Benjy
Perfect. Leave the door unlocked.

Switching from this conversation to his one with James feels…odd. He doesn’t do this,
whatever this is. Even something casual with Benjy is a stretch. He’s just been a bit stressed
lately with the new semester looming. Benjy has offered him a nice distraction during winter
holidays, though Regulus knows he’ll break it off once classes start.

Maybe this is why he doesn’t feel bad. It’s not as though this thing with James will go
anywhere. It’s only a date, something as casual—if not more casual—than what he has going
on with Benjy.

A few more minutes pass before Regulus remembers he’s meant to be driving home. He
opens his text thread with James instead, bottom lip pulled between his teeth again. At this
rate, he’ll bruise it.

He stares at the last text, unsure of what to say. The for now bit gnaws at him, but he doesn’t
have the balls to ask. Nor does he like the way his stomach flips, or his heart does that thing
where it beats a little bit too fast. It’s been a long time since he had actual feelings for
someone, and he’s not too sure he’s a fan of it.
Especially when that someone is James.

In an effort to retain some semblance of power over whatever the hell is happening, he opts
to react to James’ message with a thumbs up. Some part of him wants to scream the second
he does it. Really, Regulus? A thumbs up? But it’s better this way. He maintains control if he
doesn’t reply.

Replying puts him at risk of being left on read, and considering James has his read receipts
on, Regulus will know the exact moment James reads but opts not to respond. If James means
it, if he’s serious about taking Regulus on a date, then he won’t be afraid to send another text.
He won’t be afraid to—

James
Drive safe!
Let me know when you’re home? I’ll worry.

Regulus
Don’t. You’re not my boyfriend.

It’s a biting comment, but it has to be said.

He’ll maintain control over this. He will. He’ll remind James their relationship, if that’s what
you want to call it, is not a relationship. It’s £3,000 in Regulus’ passenger seat and plenty
more of it at home. He hasn’t bothered to add up how much James has given him since this
started, but if he had to hazard a guess, he’s made more in this last month than he has in the
last six, at least.

Doesn’t matter, though. James isn’t his boyfriend any more than Benjy is. James is just a
client. He’s—

James
Not yet.

Regulus throws his phone on the passenger seat and grabs the gearshift in a merciless grip.
His heart races far faster than he can drive the Porsche through this damned city. Even at
nearly four in the morning, London is still busy enough to force him under the speed limit.

For now.

Not yet.
The audacity, to assume anything will change between now and…and whenever. As if
Regulus will simply fall to the charms of a rich man with a gorgeous smile and nice voice
and endearing doe eyes. He’s stronger than that. He can’t be bought, no matter how much
James might throw at him.

He’s thankful he told Benjy to come over by the time he pulls into the complex of his flat.
He’s in danger of freefalling right into a night of no sleep and too much thought. Granted,
maybe he should’ve opted for the half-finished Lego set on his dining table—it doesn’t
require involving another human being in his mess of thoughts.

The Lego set was a Christmas gift from Barty and Evan, and he’s only half-finished with it.
6,167 pieces is a lot, but he’s prone to frequent sleepless nights. Most of the time, he sits for
hours with some cocktail or another, squinting until his eyes cross and he’s tired enough to
fall sleep. His work schedule doesn’t help.

But when he gets out of his car to see Benjy waiting near the entrance of his flat, he puts on a
smile. Benjy is attractive in a boy next door type of way. Tousled dark hair, brown eyes, olive
skin. An angular jaw and a nicely shaped mouth. He’s taller than Regulus but not by much.
All in all, he’s nice.

There’s nothing wrong with nice.

“Hey,” Benjy says, shoulders up to his ears and hands in the pockets of his coat. “Got here a
few minutes ago.”

“Sorry, I hit traffic.” Regulus doesn’t kiss him hello. That’s not what this is. “How was
studying?”

“Good, good. Just getting ready for my exams and stuff. I know I’ve got time, but I don’t
want to cram last minute. You know?”

Regulus replies with a noncommittal noise. He flicks on the lights in his entryway and toes
off his shoes. “I’m gonna take a shower. Give me a sec?”

“Yeah, sure.” Benjy bounces on the balls of his feet after hanging his coat on an empty hook.
“Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll watch some TV.”

There’s a part of Regulus that wants to sigh right here, but he waits until he’s alone in his
bedroom. Nice—that’s what Benjy is. There’s no passion. No excitement. Just an expectation
that in ten or so minutes, Regulus will have washed off a six hour shift and no longer smell
like a mixture of different men’s cologne.

When he’s done, he’ll go find Benjy on the couch, tug him down the hall, and let him in the
bedroom. It’ll be nice, because Benjy doesn’t do anything Regulus doesn’t ask him to do, and
Regulus doesn’t ask him to do much at all. Not because he wants nice, but because he doesn’t
think Benjy is the type to do what Regulus wants—because what Regulus wants isn’t nice.

It’s rough. It’s greedy. It’s bruises on his thighs and hips and neck. It’s a ruddy handprint on
his ass and teeth marks in his skin. It’s his hands tied behind his lower back and his face
pressed into soft pillows.

It’s decidedly not nice.

His phone buzzes on his bathroom counter as he’s stepping in the shower. Even before he
picks it up, he knows.

James
I’m going to be really bummed out if you’re dead.

Regulus
I’m not dead. I’m fine.
I just got home.

James
That’s good to hear.
Any plans for the rest of your evening?

Regulus
It’s 4 in the morning.

James
And…?

Regulus
My boyfriend is here.

James
I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Regulus
Maybe I lied.

James
Then tell him I said hi :)

Regulus well and truly squeaks. Steam fills his bathroom, and he can’t see his reflection
except in vague blurs of color. Thank God for it, because he’s not entirely sure he wants to
look himself in the eye. Not when he looks past the phone in his hand and sees—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. No. No. We are not into this,” he mutters, rubbing the heel of his palm
to the base of his slowly filling cock. He glares at the phone in his other hand. What does he
even say to this? Sure? Will do?

He’s saved when it’s James who sends one more: Goodnight. Sleep well.
That part of him that’s already in too deep wants to ask, But what about our date? Because
James didn’t mention it, and the ball is in his court now. It’s his turn to reply. Except…

He gives the text a thumbs up. Opts not to respond. Sets it on the counter. It’s just as it was in
the car—if James wants him, then he’ll make the effort. He’ll send a second text. Regulus
won’t fret. There’s a nice boy in his living room waiting for him to shower so they can fall
into bed together.

And wouldn’t it be nice to get a decent night’s sleep?

Regulus scrubs his skin a little too harshly under the heat of his shower. He hums one of the
songs he heard played a few times tonight and forces his brain to shut down. There’s
exhaustion in his muscles; he didn’t sleep much last night, either. Oh, he really should’ve
opted for the cocktail and Lego set combo. At least he’s off tomorrow.

When he’s finished and his skin is bright red, he towels himself dry, brushes his teeth, and
throws on an oversized shirt. He doesn’t bother with briefs. There’s no point.

In a moment of weakness, he checks his messages before he plugs in his phone on the
nightstand.

0 New Messages.

With an irritated huff, he puts his phone on Do Not Disturb and sets it facedown beside his
lamp. He will not think about it, nor will he hope for it. James is a client. The fact he has
Regulus’ phone number at all is a colossal mistake. He would’ve been better off keeping this
professional no matter how much he might find James enticing. The money was great, and
what if he’s lost that by starting this?

Before the rampage of thoughts can sink their claws into him, he heads for the living room.
Benjy sits on the sofa, watching some late night TV program. When he hears Regulus pad
around the corner, he turns to look over his shoulder. His smile is warm. Friendly.

“You ready?” he asks, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV.

Regulus doesn’t answer. He tugs him down the hall, tries not to think of dark curls and warm
hazel eyes and lips on his throat. Instead, he falls back on his pillows and tells himself there’s
absolutely nothing wrong with nice.
 all of my diamonds are drippin’ on him
Chapter Notes

thank you for all of the love on ch 1 <3 i hope you enjoy this one as well!

Regulus didn’t set an alarm, but Benjy sure did.

It blares at 7:55 a.m., which means Regulus only managed around two and a half hours of
solid sleep. He turns his face into his pillow and groans. “Benjy. Your phone.”

“Mm?” It’s a rumble against his back. Any other morning, he might not mind it. Might even
like it.

This morning? Not so much.

“Benjy!” he snaps when the alarm starts again. “Your phone.”

Benjy rolls over and smacks his hand around the nightstand on his side until the alarm finally
stops. “Sorry,” he mumbles, rolling back across the bed to throw an arm over Regulus’ waist.
It’s too damn heavy. “I have work at ten. I should probably get going.”

“That’s fine.”

“Do you want to…? I don’t have to leave for—”

Regulus shifts his leg to move his thigh out of Benjy’s grip. “I slept for two hours,” he replies
flatly. “All I want is to go back to bed.”

“Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Benjy kisses his shoulder, lingering. “Should I sneak out the
front?”

“Yeah. Just twist the lock and slam the door shut. It’ll be fine.” Regulus closes his eyes,
determined to ignore Benjy’s clear push for a kiss goodbye. That’s not what this is. Not to
mention he’s exhausted. He wants nothing more than to slip back into a comfortable,
dreamless sleep.

After a moment, Benjy must realize Regulus can’t be swayed. He rolls away, gets to his feet,
and starts wordlessly gathering his clothes from the floor.

Regulus doesn’t watch him dress. He’s too busy praying the blackout curtains over his
window will guarantee he falls back asleep fast. There’s a period of time during which he’ll
be able to crash again. But once it’s gone, he’s doomed until tonight no matter how tired he
is.
“Call me later?” asks Benjy tentatively, shoving his arm through the sleeve of his jumper.
“You’re off tonight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m free, if you want me to…”

Regulus can feel the already narrow window closing. The longer Benjy lingers, the less
chance he has of falling back asleep. “I’ll let you know,” he mutters.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. But you’ll call me?”

“Mhm. Don’t forget to lock it. The door. Please.”

He can feel Benjy’s presence as he lingers. “I won’t forget. Talk to you later, Reg.”

“Later.”

Regulus curls in on himself once Benjy shuts the bedroom door. He groans, exhaustion
weighing heavy on every bone and muscle in his body. Please let me sleep, he pleads with his
brain. Don’t start turning thoughts yet. Just let me rest.

This morning, he’s lucky.

He hears the front door open and shut, inhales deep into his lungs, and slips into a blissfully
dreamless sleep.

The second time Regulus wakes is not to the sound of Benjy’s alarm, but rather to a nonstop
buzzing on his nightstand. Groggy and half-asleep, he reaches for his phone.

“Hello?” he croaks, pushing up on his elbow.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Regulus sits up, wide awake. “James?”

“Did I wake you?”

“You did, but it’s fine. I shouldn’t sleep this late. It’s nearly—” He pulls his phone away from
his ear to check the time. “Fuck, it’s almost two. I should’ve gotten up hours ago and…”

He needs to stop talking, but it’s hard when his heart is in his throat. James didn’t just text—
he called. He called, and his voice is leagues different—and miles better—than it is at the
club. The lack of bass-heavy music means it comes through purer. It’s deep. Smooth. A little
sweet, even.
Talk instead of me, he thinks, and somehow, James gets the message.

“You’re off today? You don’t have work?”

Regulus rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “No, I don’t.”

“Fantastic.” He can hear the grin in James’ voice. “Then do you want to get dinner with me?”

Oh. Well, then.

“Tonight?” Regulus stills, the heel of his hand still pressed into his eye socket. Stars begin to
explode in the darkness of his vision.

“Does five-thirty sound alright? I can come get you.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to go so soon.” Not that he’s complaining. He’s just… Well, he’s
surprised, really. He’s not used to men being forward about dinner. Can I come over tonight?
is a far more common question than Can we get dinner tonight?

Maybe dating outside of his tax bracket was the way to go all along.

“Reg, I’ve been waiting weeks. Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve invested more in this
date with you than I have in most startups. So, yes,” James says with a soft laugh, “I want to
go to dinner as soon as you say we can.”

For a man as attractive and filthy rich as he is, he’s beginning to remind Regulus of a very
overenthusiastic golden retriever who’s just received its first proper chew toy. But in…the
absolute best way. Regulus thinks he wouldn’t mind if James took a bite out of him, gave him
a proper shaking.

God knows he’s in need of one after last night.

Regulus pushes the sheet off and wiggles his legs. Not even a little sore. He feels bad,
honestly. Benjy always thinks he’s doing something—and in his defense, he is. He gets
Regulus off every time. But it’s a bit like climbing the start of a rollercoaster, only to crest the
hill and realize there’s no dramatic drop but rather a very small, anticlimactic one.

“Tonight is fine.” Regulus pokes little pale fingerprints into his thighs. They’re slender but
strong thanks to years of ballet. It’s at least half the reason he can dance as well as he does
now. “You said five-thirty?”

“If that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll text you my address.”

“Perfect. Oh! One more thing before you go.”

Regulus pushes his thumb in hard above his knee. “Yes?”

“Can you send me your bank info? Routing and all that.”
He holds the phone away from his ear, squints at it, then brings it back to say, “Huh?”

“You finally let me tell you my name. A hundred thousand, right? That was the deal?”

“You’re—You’re fucking kidding.”

James scoffs. “I am not. It’s what I promised you. We made a deal, didn’t we?”

“I am not letting you send one hundred thousand pounds, James.”

“Oh, I could get used to that. Say it again?”

“I am not letting you send—”

“No, no. The other bit.” James is definitely grinning again, and now there’s a laugh building
behind his teeth. “I’ve waited ages to hear you say my name. One more time?”

“James,” he admonishes, but it seems to do the trick.

Because James laughs, something pure and full of joy, and replies, “Brilliant. Now, bank
info.”

“No way. That’s an absurd amount of money!”

“No, it’s not,” James harrumphs. “It’s a completely reasonable amount of money. Personally,
I think you’re worth far more.”

Completely reasonable? Oh, what the hell is this guy on. “I think our definitions of
‘reasonable’ are not the same.”

“Perhaps,” James concedes, but there’s still a smile in his voice. “But I’m a man of my word,
and we made a deal I intend to stick to.”

“I’m not a—a sugar baby.”

James tuts quietly. “Do you want to be? Mine, that is. The offer is open. I don’t have anyone
but myself to spend all of this money on, and God knows I’ve bought more than enough shit
with it.”

“Donate it to a charity.”

“I do that, too. But money multiplies.”

“Not for all of us.”

“Well, if you handed over that bank info…”

Regulus throws his legs over the side of his bed and puts his head in his hand. “You’re
insane.”
“A little, but you have that effect on me. Look, it’ll be on your terms. Whatever you want.
There’s no exchange. I won’t expect anything. I told you that I want it because you want it.
Not because I paid for it. That’s not what this’ll be.”

“Then what will it be? Because the only sugar babies I know are… Things are expected of
them.” He remembers Evan’s brief period as one—it landed Barty in jail overnight. “If
there’s no exchange, then what’s in it for you?”

“You. I just want you, Regulus.” The line is quiet, then James adds, “However I can have
you.”

Regulus has no idea what to make of it. There’s a part of him that’s inherently distrustful of
the world, and because James is a part of it, Regulus doesn’t trust him, either. But there’s
another part that says, Give it a shot. He’s been lovely so far and without anything to gain.
Maybe he’s genuine. Maybe he’s not so bad.

“My terms?” asks Regulus, his voice nearly inaudible.

“Your terms, love.”

He exhales, and it turns to a disbelieving laugh. “Ten thousand.”

“Ninety.”

“Ten.”

“Fifty?”

“Ten, James. You said my terms, and my terms are no massive six-figure drops. My bank
asks enough questions about the money I make now. They’re going to think I deal drugs.” He
pauses, suddenly concerned. “Wait, do you?”

James bursts out laughing. It fades in and out, as if he’s actually thrown his head back and
away from the phone. “No. It’s a perfectly legal business, I promise. I’ll tell you all you want
to know at dinner.”

“Oh. That’s a relief.”

“Do I deal—” He laughs again, and Regulus sticks his tongue out at his phone. “Don’t forget
to send the info, love. I’ll see you at five-thirty.”

James is still chuckling when Regulus ends the call.

It doesn’t hit Regulus until he’s stood in front of his closet at a complete loss: he has no idea
how to dress for a date with a man who’s already seen him in nothing but expensive lingerie
and thigh highs.

It feels like they’ve done this all backwards.

Then again, it’s not as though he makes a habit out of going on dates with his clients. James
is the first—ever. A few have asked, going so far as to offer a measly couple hundred for his
time, but none have managed to convince him.

That’s not why I’m here, he always reminds them. You pay, I dance. If you pay more, I dance
more. But I’m not going to suck you off no matter how much you throw at me.

The snark rarely earns him a repeat client—and Riddle is usually pissed at him for the display
that cost the club a customer—but he’s had enough of being meat in a freezer. Pick the best
cut, take it home, have your way with it.

Absolutely not.

All of this is a means to an end. It’s a way to get him through school. He’s almost finished;
his degree is within his grasp. A few more months, and he’ll be done with it all. Not that he
doesn’t enjoy the freedom his current work provides—it is nice to have a schedule he sets on
his own—but a normal circadian rhythm is a luxury he longs for more than any other.

Belatedly, it dawns on him that he should’ve run to a department store and bought something
fancy. Well, fancier. He has shirts that cost more than two hundred pounds. He has jeans with
designer labels. The problem is, he has a feeling James hasn’t spent less than four figures on
an item of clothing since his mother pushed him out of her womb.

“Filthy rich bastard,” mutters Regulus, snatching the most expensive shirt he owns from its
hanger. “Making me insecure about clothes. I’m never insecure about clothes. I know I look
good, damn it.”

Except something about James makes him want to try. To adjust his curls so they aren’t
careless but rather artfully placed. He spends extra time situating the strands so one will stay
looped over his forehead. Some foolish part of him hopes James will have the urge to brush it
away.

“Don’t be a romantic. Especially not a hopeless one.” He scowls at his own reflection.
“You’re a stripper, he’s a client, and this will be over the second you give him an inch. It’s
always the same. You know this.”

Still, he rubs a little liner on his bottom lash line. Smudges it so it appears unintentional and
adds dimension. It makes your eyes less gray and a little more blue, Sirius told him once.
Kinda like mine.

It’s a pang, a sour taste, and Regulus wants to wash his face. He wants it off. Wants to get rid
of the smudges that, while admittedly do look fantastic, are reminders he didn’t anticipate.
There’s a sinkhole in his head cordoned off with highlighter yellow tape. Black lettering
warns: BEWARE OF BROTHER.
The pencil splinters in his grip.

“Fuck,” he mutters, tossing it in the bin. There’s a small smudge of black on the heel of his
hand. It’s while he’s running it under water to rub it away that his phone buzzes beside the
sink.

James
Outside!
But don’t rush.

The clock on his lock screen reads 5:28 p.m. Honestly, he could kill James for being here
when he promised he would be.

Not that this is James’ fault. No, the issue is Regulus. He’s too used to being ready at the
agreed upon time, only to sit waiting at his kitchen table for some asshole to roll up late in a
car with tires ready to fall off once they’ve reached residential speed limits.

He knows his bar is in Hell. Below it, maybe.

Regulus grabs a black jacket and his keys, then slips into Docs. Not the beat up ones, but a
new pair he bought last week. A quick check in the mirror and—oh, he’s going to lose it. It’s
not that he’s underdressed or overdressed, he’s just…dressed. This isn’t how James usually
sees him.

He feels more vulnerable now in tight dark jeans and a burgundy turtleneck than he ever has
when he’s bare.

“Fuck it. No turning back now.” He sighs and shoves his phone in a jacket pocket. “If he
can’t handle you when you’re you, then he doesn’t deserve a second of your time.”

Dancing is only a small percentage of his life, after all. It was Barty who used to say Regulus
reminded him of an onion. Not in a smelly way—no, no. In a…“there are too many layers
and you might cry on your way to the middle” sort of way.

Never one to be too cautious, Regulus double checks he remembered cologne. Without all of
the body glitter and delicious smelling perfumes, he feels…incredibly naked.

With a deep, steadying breath, he opens his front door. Some part of him knew before he even
stepped out of his flat that James would not show up in a car with tires that might fall off at
any moment. This doesn’t mean his jaw doesn’t unhinge at the sight of what idles on the
curb.

“What the hell.” Regulus marches down the short walkway and waits for James to lower the
tinted window. “What is this?”
“An Aston Martin.” James leans across the center console, grinning like mad. “You look
good. Fantastic, actually. Turtlenecks suit you.”

You look good, too would be the correct and proper response considering James looks
absolutely stunning outside of club lighting. But what Regulus says is, “I’m underdressed for
an Aston Martin!”

“Huh? It doesn’t care what you’re wearing. It’s just a car.”

“It’s just a—” Regulus sputters, then coughs on his own laugh. He’s not unfamiliar with
wealth—and he’s not exactly poor, considering his profession—but this level of wealth? This
is generational. This is a name that’s been trademarked. “This is not ‘just a car.’”

He really should have bothered to google this man before agreeing to go on a date with him.

James purses his lips, brow furrowed. He’s shaved, but there’s still a hint of shadow along his
jaw. Regulus knows for damn certain it’s a delicious spot to nibble on, which only pisses him
off more. Not to mention James’ clothes are…

“Is that suit Tom Ford?”

“Yes. Why? You don’t like it?” James stretches his arm out in front of him. He wears a look
of genuine concern. The suit is an emerald green so dark it’s almost black. “Picked this one
for you, actually. Reminds me of that one number you wear sometimes. The pretty green
one?”

Regulus thinks he might strangle this man. “You didn’t tell me this place requires Tom Ford,”
he grits out.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I’m wearing Docs.”

“And you look fantastic. I told you that you look good! Very good. Then again, I imagine you
look good in everything, but maybe I’m biased.” James’ grin is far too wicked. “I’ve seen
you in almost nothing, after all.”

Regulus fights the urge to make a face. This man has managed to make his blood heat with
fury and desire in less than five minutes. A first, really. “I need to go inside and change. I—”

“You don’t, love. I promise. Just get in the car.”

“James. I’m serious! I can’t—”

“You look amazing, and we’ll be late if you change. So come on.”

Reluctantly, Regulus yanks open the passenger door and slides into his seat. The interior is all
black leather with burgundy accents to match the car’s paint. Soft rock plays at a low volume;
it’s something from the ‘80s.
The engine purrs when James hits the gas, and Regulus tries not to stare at his hand wrapped
around the gearshift. It’s dangerously close to his knee. This is familiar, at least; Regulus’
eyes always wander to James’ left hand. An old habit.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” he asks, shoving his own hands under his thighs to
keep from touching what he shouldn’t.

“Italy.”

This catches his attention. “Excuse me?”

“You said you like Italian food.” James says it so matter-of-fact, so blasé, that for a moment,
Regulus thinks, Oh, of course.

Except—what?

“Is there… Is there suddenly a restaurant called ‘Italy’ in London? Do you mean ‘Eataly,’
maybe?”

James shoots him a dubious look. “No? I mean Italy. Like, Italy Italy.”

“Italy Italy.”

“Italy.”

“The country.”

“I’m almost positive there’s only one, yes.” James rolls to a stop at a light and flicks on his
blinker. “Our flight leaves at seven, so we’ll get in a little after nine. I made—”

Regulus holds up a hand. “Hold on. Ho-o-o-old on. You’re taking me to Italy, the country, for
a first date?”

“You said you like Italian food!”

“I do! But I meant a local place. Somewhere in London! A place that doesn’t require—”
Regulus waves his hands nonsensically. “Doesn’t require a—a whole fucking flight.”

James eases the car forward. His brows pinch together. “I made reservations… I think you’d
really like it…”

“Oh, for hell’s sake. James, normal people don’t book flights for a first date,” Regulus says,
exasperated. “Normal people go to shitty restaurants with shoddy toilets.”

“But—”

“Maybe it seems like it because of how we met, or because I agreed to be your—your sugar
baby, or whatever, but I don’t only want your money. Really, I don’t.” He turns to look out
the window, inhaling a shaky breath. “And this is… It’s too much. Too big. I don’t want to
owe you something.”
He doesn’t say it, but it crash-lands between them anyway: I don’t want to owe you me.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing, love. I promise.”

“But I’ll feel like I do, and that’s bad enough.”

James is quiet for a moment. He pulls into the abandoned lot of a closed furniture store,
parks, rustles around, and then: “Hi. Frank? Can you, uh… Can you cancel the jet? I’m not
going to Italy… No, no. Everything’s fine. Just a quick change of plans. Thank you. Tell the
crew I’m sorry for the trouble and I’ll pay them double for the hours anyway. Great. Thanks
again.”

Regulus continues to stare resolutely out the window long after James ends the call. His arms
are crossed, fingers digging into the material of his jacket. Who is he kidding? I don’t only
want your money, but here he is accepting it anyway. There’s a fresh £10,000 wire transfer
pending in his bank account.

Maybe he miscalculated. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s made mistakes, so many fucking
mistakes, but this might be his most expensive one yet. And what if—

“Baby, look at me.”

There’s a fascinating building in his line of sight. He focuses on it like his life depends on
garish neon.

“Regulus, love. Please look at me.”

It’s a plea.

With his jaw set, he finally turns. James’ eyes are wide, round as dinner plates, and slightly
panicked. It’s endearing, really. He looks as terrified as Regulus feels.

“I might have miscalculated a little,” says James, and Regulus could laugh.

Me too, he thinks. What he asks is, “A bit?”

James rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. “I just wanted you to have something nice.
You’ve told me before that you like nice dates. Fancy things… I made reservations at one of
my favorite restaurants, and—and I guess I wanted to impress you. Do something no one else
has done for you.”

Oh, well. Now Regulus feels a bit like an asshole. He forgot how many truths he’s offered up
to James in the month he’s been a regular. He makes Regulus feel comfortable, and that’s
loosened his tongue more than usual on plenty of nights. How many cards has he shown?
How much does James remember?

Regulus drops his head back and sighs. “You wired me ten thousand pounds not five hours
ago. Consider me impressed.”

“Yeah, but this is different.”

“I don’t know exactly what you do for work, but clearly you make plenty.” Regulus shuts his
eyes. It’s easier to be vulnerable and honest when he’s half-naked. He can pretend James’s
attention is elsewhere. But here in the confines of James’ car, there’s nowhere for James to
look but at Regulus. It makes him feel itchy all over. “I know that much, but I don’t know
you. I don’t know about your family, or what your favorite color is, or why you drive this
ridiculous car—”

“I like it,” James mutters, but Regulus barrels on.

“—but I also know you promised you wouldn’t push me to fuck you if I didn’t want to,
because you want me to want it for real. Not because you paid for it.” Regulus inhales a
steadying breath. “I imagine the same man who said that about sex would say it about
everything else.”

He hears James audibly swallow and wonders if he might be scolding him more than he
deserves.

So Regulus softens, opens his eyes, and adds, “I want to get to know you, James. On my
terms, like you said.”

“Can I—?” James shifts, reaching up near Regulus’ cheek, but he pauses until Regulus nods
once. His palm is warm where it cradles Regulus’ face, thumb brushing gently over his
cheekbone. “It’s sexy, you know. That attitude of yours. I knew that first night you would be
a hard one to win over.”

“You haven’t entirely won me over yet.”

“I know. I’m trying, though.”

“I just scolded you for doing something incredibly nice.” Regulus’ cheeks warm. The
embarrassment hits him hard. “I didn’t—I probably sound like an—I’m sorry. You did a
really thoughtful thing, and I—”

“It doesn’t matter. I should’ve asked if you were okay with it. I think I got a bit too excited
about surprising you.” James grins crookedly, his eyes bright, and Regulus thinks, Golden
retriever. “I should’ve made sure you were alright with my…uh, method of impressing you.”

Regulus turns his head to brush his lips against James’ palm. The answer is a sharp intake of
breath. “It’s like I said: I know your money, so consider me impressed. It’s the rest I want to
know now.”

“Alright then. Change of plans.” Regulus tries not to whine when James’ hand leaves his
cheek to curve around the steering wheel. “Where are we going? What’s good Italian near
here? I can Google it, but—”

“No, no. I know a place. It’s only a bit down the road. A little small, but I know the owners.
They’re really nice. And they make everything from scratch. They’re as close to Italian as
you can get without going to Italy.”
James shoots him a delighted grin, laughing softly at Regulus’ small attempt to lighten the
mood. This time, instead of the gear shift, he settles a hand on the inside of Regulus’ thigh
just above his knee. “Sounds perfect. Should I turn around?”

“Yeah, it’s the opposite way.”

“Alright. I’ll go wherever you tell me.”

What Regulus doesn’t tell James about the restaurant’s owners is that they’re practically
family. Considering his strict no contact rule with his own parents, Evan’s have been
delightful replacements.

“Hi, Mrs. Rosier,” says Regulus when he steps inside the small, warm restaurant.

Its ceilings are low, its lighting dim, and there are tables lined up under large windows. The
Rose, appropriately named by its owners, is as local as any nearby pub in Regulus’ small
London neighborhood. It’s tucked away, difficult to notice unless you’re looking for it, and
doesn’t usually have a full parking lot.

Still, it’s the best Italian food he’s ever had. Not that he’s been to Italy to compare it, but he
trusts Evan and Pandora’s word that their parents’ food is elite.

Mrs. Rosier glances up over the rim of her glasses from where she scribbles on a yellow pad.
“Oh! Regulus. Hello, dear. Are you looking for…” She trails off, thin brows furrowing.
“Who’s this?”

“This is James.” Regulus takes a half-step left, surprised when James reaches around him to
offer his hand.

“Hello. I’m James Potter.”

Mrs. Rosier’s brows shoot up, but she shakes James’ hand. “Welcome to the Rose. My
husband and I own and run it. He cooks, and I do the books.” She turns her attention back to
Regulus. “Evan isn’t working tonight, but Pandora is. Are you looking for her?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No, no. We’re here to eat. James is, uh…”

A friend? A date? Some secret third and unnamable thing?

James seems to sense his hesitation. He smiles easily and says, “I’m taking him on a date.”

“Oh. Oh!” Mrs. Rosier’s face brightens, and Regulus already knows the group text will send
his phone vibrating right off the table in less than ten minutes. “Pandora! Pandora, honey,
Regulus is here!”
Make that three minutes—tops.

Luckily, Pandora doesn’t ask questions. One white-blonde brow arches dramatically, and she
shoots Regulus a suspicious look, but she seats them at a table tucked in the corner, setting
down two menus. “Anything I can get started for you?” she asks, her tone saccharine. She
regards James with heightened suspicion. “Water? Beer? Appetizers?”

“Just a bread basket, please.” Regulus’ smile is tight-lipped. Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask.
“And two waters.”

“Do you have wine?”

Pandora shifts her weight and takes in James’ attire. He left his suit jacket in the car, but his
button down and slacks still scream wealthy—and Pandora is incredibly perceptive. “Do you
prefer red or white?”

James looks to Regulus.

“Red,” he offers.

“Lovely.” Pandora makes a note on her pad, but Regulus knows it isn’t their order. She’s too
smart to forget something this simple. “Cabernet? Merlot? Zinfandel?”

James seems to consider, then asks, “Do you have any Sangiovese wines?”

Pandora positively beams. “Not a common request.”

“It’s good with pasta.”

“It’s expensive.”

“That’s fine. Can we do the whole bottle?”

Pandora cuts Regulus a glance, and he knows he’s in for it the moment she walks away from
their table. “You can have whatever you’d like with that attitude, Mr. Potter. I’ll be right back
with that wine.”

She has her phone out of her pocket well before she pushes open the kitchen door. Within
seconds, Regulus feels the buzz in his jacket.

“Here we go,” he mutters, wishing he had a glass of water to wash down his nerves.

James looks up from his menu. “Is a date with me that bad?”

“No, no. No, it’s—” His phone buzzes again. “Hold on. Let me just…”

He intends to put it on Do Not Disturb, but he can’t help reading what’s already flooded in:

Barty Needs Dick Donations

Pandora
RED ALERT. RED ALERT.
REGULUS IS ON A DATE.
AT MY PARENTS’ RESTAURANT.

Evan
Already?!
Didn’t that guy just ask last night?

Pandora
You knew about this and DIDN’T TELL ME?

Evan
I didn’t think it would happen in 24 hours!

Lily
Someone explain.
I have 3 min 15 sec left before pomodoro runs out.

Pandora
My little study bunny <3
Reg is on a date.

Lily
As in Regulus Black? Our Regulus?
Infamous ‘I Do Not Date’ Regulus?

Barty
Doesn’t date, but he fucks.
Important distinction.

Dorcas
Barty change the group chat name

Barty
Absolutely.

Barty changed the chat name to ‘Regulus ‘Only Dates Rich Dick’ Black’

Marlene
Why is it always dicks?
I’m a lesbian. No more dicks.

Regulus
Fuck you all.

Before his reply can cause a riot, he silences his phone and stuffs it back in his pocket.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, fiddling with his hands in his lap. “I, uh… The waitress? She’s my—”
“Friend?” James smiles; it’s surprisingly fond. “I can tell. She sized me up in half a second
and with more intensity than our board members. It’s clear she cares about you.”

“She texted the group chat I have with my friends.” Regulus rolls his eyes. The bell above the
front door rings, and a couple walks in. “She told them I’m on a date. They’re freaking out
about it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t usually… I don’t date much.” Regulus’ knee bounces under the table. “They’ll
probably throw a party over it.”

“Do you have a lot of them? Friends, I mean.”

Right. This is what people do on dates—they get to know one another. They ask surface level
questions, probing only as much as is deemed socially acceptable. Still, he can’t help but feel
awkward about it. There’s Regulus, the stripper, and then there’s Regulus, the exhausted grad
student who builds complex Lego sets in his spare time.

He forgets that James only knows the former.

“I do,” he offers, flipping off Pandora when she sets their uncorked bottle of wine and two
glasses on the table with a flourish.

“I’ll take it you haven’t decided on your meals. No matter. I’ll just…”

He flips her off again when she blows him a kiss from the front counter. Mrs. Rosier looks
mildly amused, but nudges her daughter to get back to work.

“I have a handful of friends. There’s Barty and Evan, who both work at the club. Evan is the
bartender, so you’ve met him a few times.”

James pours Regulus’ glass, then his own. “I remember him. He’s nice.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. Then there’s Pandora, who’s Evan’s twin sister. She’s dating
Lily, who introduced Marlene to our group. Marlene is dating Dorcas, and…that’s it, really.”
He clinks his glass against James’, and to his surprise, his smile comes easy. “To first dates?”

“To first dates.”

After the first glass of wine, his anxiety begins to fade. They forget about the menus entirely,
and he learns James’ parents are from Mexico. Guadalajara, he says easily, though it takes
Regulus a few tries to get it right. Each time he fumbles, James’ smile widens, grows fonder,
and it makes Regulus warm all over.

He likes the way James looks at him under bad lighting in a dark corner of a restaurant with
too low ceilings. It’s no different than the way he looks at Regulus when Regulus is half-
naked in his lap—like no one and nothing else deserves his attention.
“What about you?” asks James, pouring a little more wine in both of their glasses. “Do you
have any siblings?”

Regulus stills, but he uses the distraction of another sip to calm the spike of his nerves. “No,”
he lies. “I’m an only child, too.”

“Oh. Sucks sometimes, doesn’t it? I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother.
Or a sister.”

“Not me.” Regulus swallows more wine. It’s practically a gulp now. “Anyway, I’m surprised
you’re an only child. You seem like you would have a big family.”

James shrugs, finally opening his menu again. “Nah. My parents had me pretty late, and I
was a bit of a miracle child. Plus, Ma almost died giving birth to me. I think they both agreed
at that point that one was enough.”

“Fair. Two of you would probably be—”

“Oi, Regulus!” shouts Pandora from where she’s stuck her head out the kitchen door. “Quit
flirting and order!”

The corner of James’ mouth quirks. “Guess we should pick something?”

“Might be a good idea before Pandora kicks us out.”

Silence settles while they both look over the menu. Regulus has tried almost all of the
options, but he still scans the pages more than once. His nerves are crawling back.

He didn’t mean to lie… Except that he definitely did. Yes, I have a brother would lead to Oh,
his name is Sirius would lead to No, we don’t talk anymore would lead to Well, he left me
behind when I was fourteen, we haven’t spoken since, and I haven’t forgiven him for it.

This is the first good date Regulus has had in a long, long time. He won’t ruin it by hauling
his family trauma out of its hiding place. Besides, he can’t show James all of his cards just
yet. Layers upon layers—and this is only the first one.

He reaches for his glass to wash down the sharp sting of long buried memories.

“So,” says James, propping up his menu to scan over the options again. “Tell me about him.”

For a brief, panicked moment, he thinks James means Sirius. “About who?” he croaks, heart
hammering.

“Your not-boyfriend boyfriend.”

Regulus nearly chokes on his wine. That was not the answer he expected. “Out of all the
things you could ask me, why do you want to talk about him?”

“I know the names of your friends. I know you study software engineering. I know you have
no siblings. I feel like the last big piece is this one. So, what’s his name?”
With some measure of reluctance, Regulus replies, “His name is Benjy.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” James flips to the next page of his menu, entirely unbothered. Something
about the nonchalance of it all makes Regulus’ blood simmer. “Where did you meet?”

“At uni. I’m sorry—” Regulus sets his menu flat on the table and leans forward, fingers
curled around the laminated edges, “—but why do you want to know about Benjy? Aren’t we
supposed to be on a date?”

“It’s good business practice to know about your competition.”

“I—What? He’s not your—your competition.”

James’ eyes flick up to look over the top of his menu. He tongues the inside of his cheek, lips
twitching as though he’s holding back a grin. “No,” he says simply. “No, I suppose he’s not.”

Oh, the gal. The way he smirks, like he has Regulus all figured out just like that.

Infuriated, Regulus leans forward a little more and whisper-hisses, “You’re too cocky, you
know that? We were having a nice time, but now you’re dragging someone irrelevant into the
mix. Just sitting there in your Tom fucking Ford—”

“Hey, don’t bring him into this.”

“—so goddamn sure you’re going to—to what? Get me in your bed with a nice car and fancy
wine?”

James’ brow quirks. “Now look who’s cocky. Who said I’m trying to get you in my bed?”

“You did!”

“Not tonight. Besides, I never once thought you’d be that easy.”

“Good, because I’m not,” Regulus huffs. “I like Benjy. He’s nice. But you’re—you’re
irritating. In fact—” And now that he’s on a roll, he knows there’s no end in sight until he
cools off, “—you need your ego knocked down a few pegs, and I’ll happily be the one to do
it.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, I will. Guys like you aren’t even that great in bed. All bark and no bite. Big dicks and
nothing to show for it.” Regulus narrows his eyes. The glimmer of amusement in James’ is
kindling to his fire. “And we might be on a date now, but after you drop me off at home, I’ll
call Benjy and he will fuck me better than you ever could.”

Regulus collapses back in his chair, arms crossed and cheeks burning. He glares at his menu.
If James didn’t hate him before, he sure will now. Things were nice. They were going well.
Their conversation was easy, flowing smoothly. Why did he have to go and let his temper
flare unchecked? He isn’t his mother. Not anymore.
Ah, well. If James didn’t hate him before, he sure will now.

Good job, Regulus. With the way you stick your foot in your mouth, it’s a miracle you’ve
managed to keep Benjy around these last few weeks.

After a brief silence, James asks, “Are you done?”

“For now.”

“Great. Have you tried their fettuccini? Is it better than the spaghetti?”

Regulus is on fire all over again. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, yeah.” James shrugs one shoulder. Nonchalance—so fucking much of it. “I can’t
decide between the fettuccini or the spaghetti. Figured you could help me out since this is
your friend’s restaurant.”

“I just told you I’m going to let someone else fuck me tonight and your response is to ask me
about fettuccini?”

“And spaghetti.”

Regulus can’t help but let his jaw drop. “Are you well?”

With a heavy sigh, James sets his menu flat and leans across the table. “Love, come here.”

“No.”

“Do you want what I’m about to say to you to be overheard?”

Regulus has no idea what to expect. Reluctantly, he leans forward until they’re a few inches
apart. To an outsider, it might appear romantic. From up close, he catches flecks of gold
mixed in James’ irises.

“I don’t care about your not-boyfriend boyfriend. Not really.” James sets his elbow on the
table and takes Regulus’ chin between thumb and forefinger. “Do you want to know why?”

“Yes.”

“Because if he was so great and fucked you as well as you claim, then you wouldn’t be here
with me.”

Regulus narrows his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? We’re here drinking wine, about to order a meal. We’re getting to know one another.
This is a real date, love. And I really do intend to walk you to your door when we’re all done
here.”

“Then why did you ask me about Benjy?”

“You’re the one who mentioned him last night. I was only curious. I didn’t expect you to get
fired up about it.”

Regulus runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and James’ grip on his chin tightens. “I’m not
going to call him.”

“I know.” Before Regulus can protest, he continues, “Be honest with me. You said he was
over last night. Did you sleep with him?”

“And if I did?”

“Yeah, see, that’s the thing. If I were Benjy, I would’ve left a mark. A whole line of them,
actually. Right…” He shifts to press his thumb over Regulus’ jugular vein. “Here.”

Regulus tries to swallow, but his throat has gone dry. He desperately needs a drink, but he’s
held captive by the heated look in James’ eyes. “I can’t,” he manages. “Because of work. I
have to…”

“We both know you’re using that as an excuse.” He presses his thumb in a little harder. His
grin is sly as a fox’s. “Your heart is racing.”

“Because you pissed me off.”

“And your pupils are blown.”

Regulus scowls and finally pulls away, painfully aware of how right James is. He wouldn’t be
here if Benjy was someone he wanted to keep around. To go on dates like this with. Just
something to pass the time, he’d said to Evan.

So what does that make this budding thing he’s started with James?

He reaches for his wine and swallows the last of it in one gulp. “Get the fettuccini,” he
mutters, reaching for the bottle. It’s almost empty. “I’ll get the spaghetti.”

The rest of their dinner isn’t a monumental disaster despite Regulus’ brief temper flare. He
chalks it up to nerves and wine, which are not a great combination. He’s known to say things
he doesn’t mean when it’s alcohol loosening his generally put-together composure. It’s only
made worse when he’s nervous.

But once James’ fettuccini and his spaghetti arrive, it’s easy again. They order another bottle
of wine, and James tells him about his father’s invention some twenty years ago.

“It started the whole empire,” he says, twirling fettuccini noodles on his fork. “Pa is brilliant.
Had all of these ideas and built his company from the ground up. He and Ma moved here
from Mexico to try their hand at business, and it worked.” He shakes his head, fondness
written in every feature. “He still drives the same car. It’s a ninety-three something. Keep
telling him to get a new one, but…”

“How could he when you’re using up all of the money on an Aston Martin?” quips Regulus,
unable to completely hide his smile behind the rim of his wine glass.
James points his fork, and the noodle wrapped around it unwinds. “And on you. You’re a
pricey investment, love.”

“Mm. A better ride than an Aston Martin, though.” He throws his head back with a full laugh
when James chokes on the forkful of fettuccini he’d just shoved in his mouth. “Oops.”

“That was calculated,” James manages between coughs. He pushes up his glasses to wipe at
his eyes and reaches for his wine. “Absolutely foul of you.”

Regulus’ cheeks start to hurt from smiling so wide for so long.

For the first time in what might be ever, Regulus doesn’t want a date to end. This one has
been…good. Better than good, actually. He hasn’t once thought to check his phone, though
he’s sure no less than 500 messages are waiting for him. And a look at the clock—9:03 p.m.
—has him disappointed rather than thankful.

He wouldn’t mind staying up all night with James. The lack of sleep would be worth it if they
could keep talking. He didn’t expect to find James’ business so interesting, but he has. The
mind James has for investments, for startups, for ways to make his money work for him…
It’s given his father the freedom to semi-retire early and leave the majority of the company’s
planning to his son.

“He taught me well,” James explained over dessert. “My parents spoiled me, but within
reason. I didn’t get fancy things or a bunch of money without working for it. Mowed lawns,
walked dogs, helped clean yards. And when I turned eighteen, he sent me to uni. I had a job
then, too.”

“He didn’t help you out?”

“Sure, but not frivolously. He wanted to make sure I understood the value of it all.”

Regulus hadn’t been able to stop himself from pointing out James’ father might not be too
keen to know who he spends his money on now.

But to that, James had only shrugged and replied, “You’re worth it to me, so he wouldn’t
care. He’s spent far more on my mum. Who do you think I learned it from?”

The car ride home is quiet, but it’s not awkward. James hums along with a song on the radio.
Regulus marvels at home smooth a drive it is. And when James brings the car to a stop in
front of his flat, he realizes with a start that he doesn’t want to get out. He wants to stay here
where it’s warm, and where James’ hand rests comfortably on his thigh.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For a nice evening and a fun date.”

“Of course. I had a great time.” Regulus buries a soft noise when James’ hand squeezes his
thigh—then lets go. “Your friend is nice. It’s neat she helps run her parents’ restaurant.”

Regulus picks at a loose thread in his jeans. “Yeah. Her and Evan plan to sell it when they
pass, though. That’ll be a while from now, but neither of them have any real interest in
cooking. Pandora wants to open a clothing store, and Evan likes bartending.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate. The food is incredible.”

“Their parents are upset about it, too. It’s a long story. A complex one.”

James shifts in his seat. Regulus doesn’t look at him. “And your story? Is it a long and
complex one?”

“Something like that.”

“We spent most of the night talking about me. Don’t you want to tell me a little more about
you?”

“No. Not really.”

Where do I start? With my shitty parents? With the brother I lied about? Or maybe with uni,
where I—

“Regulus. You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

James shifts once more, this time leaning an elbow on the center console. He reaches out to
tuck a finger under Regulus’ chin and turn his face. “You spiral. Your eyes get all distant and
you start biting your bottom lip so hard I think you’ll bite it right off.”

“Oh,” is all Regulus can manage. James is regarding him intensely again, and he feels too
damn vulnerable like this. “I just… Not yet. My family is complicated. A mess, actually. I’d
prefer to tell you later. Much later.”

“That’s fine, but you should know you’re incredibly interesting to me. You’re not the only
one who wants to know everything.”

It feels wrong to exclude himself from the equation, but Regulus can’t open his mouth. He
can’t tell James anything that might make him wonder why the hell he took a chance on
Regulus in the first place. All he can say is, “I’m not that interesting. You’ll see.”

It’s the closing of a curtain. The end of a show.

With a slightly defeated sigh, James says, “Come on. I’ll walk you to your door.”

Regulus’ heart leaps into his throat. This, he realizes, is why he doesn’t want the date to end.
Because this is it—this is the moment, he thinks when James turns off the car, when it all
comes crumbling down. It’s always the same: I’ll walk you to your door turns into let me
come in turns into come on, baby, just let me fuck you turns into angry rejection and bitter
insults. No one wants you anyway. You’re all used up.

He doesn’t have the energy for that tonight. It was a good evening. A nice evening, all things
considered. The warmth of James’ laughter and the brightness of his smile are still fresh.
Even without the club lights, James isn’t merely handsome—he’s gorgeous. He’s kind and
gentle, and the type of person who holds a little ball of infectious light in his chest.

Regulus doesn’t want to ruin this so soon.

“It’s okay,” he says in a hurry, reaching out to grab James’ arm. “I can walk myself in.”

James frowns at where Regulus’ fingers circle his wrist. “You can, but that’s not why I’m
walking you to your door. Come on. I told you I would.”

“James, no, it’s—”

He halts when he’s half out of the car and turns around slowly to look at Regulus. “What’s
wrong?”

“It’s nothing. You just—You can’t, okay?”

“That’s not really a reason.”

Regulus fights to keep his breathing even. “Because when men get to my door, they all want
the exact same thing. So it’s better you don’t. If you don’t, then this… It’s not ruined.”

James regards him for a moment, expression carefully blank. “What do you want?”

“What?”

“What do you want?” He shuts the door so the rest of the world fades away. It’s silent now
that the car is off and the radio no longer plays.

Regulus feels pulled apart and put on display. “I… I don’t understand what you mean.”

“If you want me to take you inside and fuck you, I’ll do it. I’ll lay you out for hours. If you
want me to leave, then I can do that, too. You call the shots. It’s whatever you want.”

“Why?” he asks quietly, unable to stop himself. “Why are you letting me decide?”

James reaches out to gently flick the tip of Regulus’ nose, startling him. “You like control.
It’s the most obvious thing about you. And you also like to make assumptions. About me,
about the world, about the damn postman, I’m sure. Be honest. You’ve already convinced
yourself I’m terrible in bed and will treat you as awfully as the rest, haven’t you?”

Regulus’ silence is answer enough.

“You create boxes for everyone and feel like you’ve won when they fit right into them. Your
assumptions become fact.”
He has the distinct feeling James might’ve figured out more of him that he thought.

“How about this? You can have your control. Keep your assumptions.”

Regulus’ breathing goes a bit uneven when James grips his chin again—unforgiving, but not
cruel.

“We’ll go on more dates. Do this nice and slow. Get to know one another. And when you’re
tired of holding all the cards and pulling all of the strings, that is when I’ll fuck you. But not
before, because until you give up all of that control, you’ll just be waiting for me to prove
you right.”

“And if you get bored?”

“I won’t,” James says simply. “You like control, but I like to win. And a win to me will be
proving to you that I’m not like every other guy you’ve been with. I’m happy to wait until
you realize it.”

Regulus sets his jaw. There’s wine on his breath; he can smell it on James’, too. “And if I
don’t?”

“It’s all up to you, love.”

He’s forgotten about the rest of the world. He doesn’t know if it’s night or day or something
in-between outside the confines of James’ car. All he knows is James, who watches him with
a sparkle in his eyes behind his glasses. There’s no hint of malice. He likes this—the way
Regulus’ breath has quickened, how his cheeks are surely tinged pink.

“Okay,” he whispers, and James drops his hand.

The warmth of it lingers.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” asks James, leaning back in his seat.

“I don’t, but every Friday night is movie night with my friends, so I’ll be busy.”

“Ah. Bummer, that. I was hoping we could go on another date.”

“Already?” Regulus rolls his eyes. “We just finished one.”

“And I had a brilliant time and want to go on another. Is that bad?”

Regulus ducks his head to hide the start of his smile. “No. It’s not. But it’ll have to be another
day.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait for you to tell me when.” James nudges his knee gently. “So, can I walk
you to your door or would you prefer I don’t?”

“Don’t.” Regulus opens the car door, but before he steps out, he says, “Goodnight, James.
Thank you again for the date. And let me know when you’re home.”
There’s a bit of mischief in James’ smile. “Sleep well. Dream of me, won’t you?”

Regulus scoffs. “There’s nothing to dream about.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Before the tone of James’ voice makes him get back in the car, lean across the console, and
kiss him, Regulus gets out and hurries up the short walkway to his door. He unlocks it in
record time and slams it shut behind him, slumping against it with a heavy sigh. He waits
until he hears the purr of James’ car before he toes off his boots and hangs his jacket on a
hook.

In truth, he isn’t sure what to make of James.

He mulls the night over while going through the motions of his nighttime routine. He tries
not to think about the way he snapped at James over dinner, or about the confident way James
promised to lay him out for hours. It’s the best date he’s ever been on, but it’s the most
confusing, too.

Your assumptions become fact.

Don’t they, though? That’s how it’s always been. His past is muddled with bad decisions and
even worse people, from his parents to friends who nearly ruined his life. He’s lucky Barty
and Evan found him when they did. But outside of this new family he’s made for himself, the
world always acts exactly as he expects it to.

What makes James any different from the lot of them?

He settles in bed a little before ten. There’s a text from James telling him he’s home. Regulus
gives it a thumbs up but doesn’t send anything back. He’s too busy scrolling through the
group chat’s 482 messages sent over the hours he had his phone on silent. He doesn’t respond
to any of their questions, but he laughs a few times at a handful of their messages.

When he’s finished catching up, he sets his phone on his nightstand and stares at the ceiling
with his hands behind his head.

It’s all up to you, love.

If that’s the case, then the answer is simple. He’ll play this game longer. He’ll outlast James.
He won’t give an inch no matter how much he might want to. They’ll go on dates, and in
time, James will grow bored. He’ll beg just as they all do. When it comes time, he’ll crumble
—and all of Regulus’ assumptions will become fact.

After all, it’s not only control that he likes.

He likes winning, too.

 last night really was the cherry on the cake
Chapter Notes

happy valentine's day <3

there's an art surprise from alex at the end!

“You lied to him about Sirius?”

Regulus ducks left, then right to snatch a chocolate-covered strawberry and simultaneously
avoid Lily’s well-aimed punch. “I might’ve,” he admits around a mouthful of fruit and
chocolate. “I’ll be honest with him if it ever gets to that point. But right now, I don’t feel like
trauma dumping the House of Black in his lap.”

“I think he’ll take anything in his lap so long as it involves you,” mutters Evan, grabbing a
beer from the fridge. He sets the top against the counter’s edge and smashes the heel of his
hand down to pop off the cap. Then he hands it to Barty, who sits on a barstool with his
elbows on a high counter, watching the goings on in their kitchen.

Barty and Evan’s flat is located a ten minute drive from Regulus’, just down the street from
Lily and Pandora’s, and within three stops of Marlene and Dorcas’ station. Though they often
rotate who hosts Friday Film Night, nine times out of ten, it’s Barty and Evan who have the
honor.

We have the best kitchen, the best liquor, and the best couch, Evan had argued once. No one
could disagree with him.

“You do realize your name is not exactly inconspicuous, right?” asks Marlene from where
she sits next to Barty on another stool. “You’re no John Smith. The name Regulus is, like,
one in every hundred thousand people. And you’re a Black.”

“Thank you for reminding me.” Regulus glowers and takes a final bite of his chocolate-
covered strawberry. He debates reaching for another despite Lily’s warning glance. “But I
don’t think he’s put two and two together. I told him I’m an only child, and he didn’t bat an
eye. I’m sure he doesn’t expect to find a member of the Black family in a strip club.”

“You really think the James Potter, heir to an empire, doesn’t know who the Regulus Black,
heir to an even bigger empire, is?” deadpans Marlene. Her disbelieving expression is
mirrored by Dorcas, who sits beside her girlfriend. The three of them—Dorcas, Marlene, and
Barty—look entirely unimpressed.

“I’m not an heir anymore. They made that clear when I walked out. I’ve been disinherited for
years.”
Pandora, who’s busy situating her charcuterie board, huffs a laugh. “You’ll always be an heir,
Reggie. Just like Sirius will always be your brother. You should tell James you lied before he
finds out himself. He’s been honest with you, hasn’t he?”

“We’re not dating. It doesn’t matter if he finds out,” Regulus argues defensively. He grabs a
bottle of tequila from the freezer and one of Barty’s many shot glasses lined up on the
counter. “We’re just…going on dates.”

“That’s the literal definition of ‘dating.’ Pour me one, too.” Barty reaches over the counter
and pushes a second shot glass towards Regulus. “Which brings me to our next issue of the
evening: are you still fucking Benjy?”

“Ugh, Reggie, not him!” the girls lament in unison. It makes Barty and Evan howl with
laughter, and Regulus downs both his and Barty’s shot. He knew this would be on the night’s
discussion docket, but he hates it just the same.

“Yes,” he snaps. “I am still fucking him. Sometimes.”

Evan makes a gagging noise. He pushes a third shot glass towards Regulus. “Is the sex still—
what’s the word you use? Oh, right. Nice?”

“Yes. Actually, it’s great.”

“Did you know that when you lie, you get this weird little eye twitch?” Marlene asks,
snickering when Dorcas nudges her to shush. “Doesn’t matter if you’re lying to someone else
or yourself—you twitch. Every time.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” half the room agrees, and not for the first time, Regulus thinks he might be
outnumbered.

Severely outnumbered.

He mumbles, “I hate you all,” and pours three shots for himself, Barty, and Evan. Reluctantly,
he hands them over, clinks their glasses, and lets the liquor singe a trail down his throat.
“What does Benjy have to do with any of this?”

“Just wondering when you plan to drop the poor sod, or if you’re going to keep pretending
like you don’t rub one out to the thought of Ja—Fuck, ow!” Evan rubs at the middle of his
forehead where a bright red mark and a welt bloom.

If there’s one thing Regulus has held onto from his childhood, it’s his mother’s concussion-
inducing forehead flick.

“I do not get off to the thought of James Potter.”

“Oh, my turn,” Barty says, nudging Marlene with a conspiratorial grin. “Reg, darling, did you
know that when you lie specifically about sex, your pale ass turns redder than the strawberry
you just ate?”
“You know what? Fuck you too, Crouch.”

It’s an answering chorus of laughter entirely unconcerned with his bitter scowl.

Even though he points a threatening finger at Barty, he knows there’s no point in denying it
further. He woke up this morning, pressed his forehead against cold tile while his bathroom
filled with steam, and let his eyes roll back as he imagined his hand was James’.

He came harder than he has in weeks.

“Don’t you think James might be a little upset to find out he’s dropping money on someone
with a trust fund of their own?” asks Lily. She helps Pandora finish the charcuterie board,
adding her chocolate-covered strawberries to an empty corner.

“I don’t have a trust fund,” Regulus reminds them all for the thousandth time. “Not
anymore.”

“It’s cute you think your psycho, bloodline-obsessed parents disowned both their sons. I
expect sizable monetary compensation for dealing with your bullshit when that trust fund
hits. I don’t care how long I have to wait.” Barty points to the tequila bottle clutched in
Regulus’ hand and adds, “In the meantime, hit me.”

Regulus pours two more shots. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Fine. Tell us about James. And I do mean all about him.”

“It’s fucking weird when you wiggle your eyebrows like that. Here.” Regulus downs his shot
in unison with Barty; he can feel the tequila in his fingertips now. It’s a telltale, almost-tipsy
tingle. “What do you want to know? He runs his dad’s company. Drives an Aston Martin.
Twenty-eight. Probably likes long walks on the beach and other cheesy shit. He seems like
the type.”

Pandora shoulders past him to make room for Lily and the giant charcuterie board in her
hands. “You’re holding out on us. That’s all superficial stuff.”

“Yeah,” Lily agrees, blowing an errant piece of red hair out of her eyes. “We all know you
don’t care about his car or his company. So what about the rest?”

“He’s…sweet.” Regulus follows his friends into the living room. “He listens. It’s easy to talk
to him. I didn’t feel exhausted when the date was over. He knows how to keep up a
conversation without being too nosy. And he…” You like control. It’s the most obvious thing
about you. “Sometimes I think he sees right through me.”

“You should marry him if that’s the case,” Marlene remarks, settling on the sofa. “Lord
knows you wear about ten different faces.”

“Onion,” Barty reminds her, taking his seat.

The sofa is L-shaped, and their seats are the same every Friday night. Marlene and Dorcas sit
at one end while Barty, Evan, and Regulus take the other. Lily and Pandora always prefer the
floor.

“Poor Benjy,” Lily laments with a sigh. “He’s not gonna know what hit him when you finally
grow balls big enough to be a man about it and cut him off.”

Regulus gapes at her. “That’s—That’s not it!” He lies down on his side, cheek smushed
petulantly on Barty’s thigh. Barty has his legs spread, and Evan uses his other thigh as a
pillow. This is their usual position; Evan hadn’t joked when he said theirs is the best couch—
it’s comfortable and massive.

“You can make that face all you want, but you really shouldn’t keep stringing him along. Not
if you’re going to keep seeing James.” Lily situates herself with her head in Pandora’s lap,
mouth open to accept small bits of cheese from the charcuterie board on the coffee table. “We
all know who you’re going to pick.”

“I haven’t even slept with James. What if he sucks in bed?”

“Doesn’t mean you get to keep Benjy around for pity lays. From what you’ve told us, it
sounds to me like he might actually be into you. He just doesn’t know how to break out of the
‘friends with benefits’ box you’ve shoved him into.”

Regulus’ scowl deepens. “Lils, have I ever told you that I hate how smart you are?”

“Boys don’t have enough brain cells, and the ones you do have are all crowded in your dicks.
We girls have to make up for what you lack,” she quips, opening her mouth for another piece
of cheese. “Also, you complain all of the time about men using you for sex. You really
shouldn’t do it to Benjy.”

“What if Benjy is using me for sex? Maybe it’s mutual using for once. That was our
agreement.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Reggie.”

It’s Dorcas, casually flipping through Netflix movies, who asks, “Do you have a picture of
him? James, not Benjy. I’m only realizing now that we have no idea what he looks like. He
could be a solid two for all we know.”

Evan barks a laugh. “He is not a two. Far from it.”

“I don’t always agree with him,” Pandora adds, “but Evan is right. Not a two.”

This gets the other girls’ attention. Their heads turn in unison, three sets of brows raised
expectantly.

“Well?” prods Dorcas. “Where’s our proof?”

With a reluctant sigh, Regulus pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Can’t you just google
him yourselves?”
“As if you haven’t already done a deep dive into every available piece of information you
could find.”

Dorcas isn’t wrong.

He woke up last night around two a.m. Unable to fall back asleep, he hauled himself out of
bed, made a fresh cup of tea, and settled down with the Lego set spread out on his kitchen
table. He was in the middle of putting Frodo’s room together, brain blissfully empty while his
focus narrowed in on building the tiny bed, when his curiosity suddenly spiked.

For a little while, he was able to ignore it. He poured himself another cup of tea, put on lo-fi
music to hum along with, and lost himself in the familiarity of thousands of tiny pieces. It
was another hour or so before his curiosity hit again—a punch to his brain, a hey, look here
that he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Which is how he wound up googling James, knees drawn to his chest and Lego set forgotten.
Hundreds of articles litter the internet, from Times interviews to Forbes features to a handful
of photoshoots that made Regulus’ mouth water. Some part of him felt wrong zooming in on
the dark line of hair that disappeared under a low slung waistband. It was almost like looking
in on something private.

Until he reminded himself James has seen him almost naked many times—and then he
zoomed in some more.

This is how he found James’ Instagram. He scrolled through comments for an hour,
unnecessarily bitter at men and women throwing love at a man he himself barely knows.
Still, it made him want to snarl and gnash his teeth. He wanted to reply, He took me on a date
—not you, summergirl98xo.

He resisted, but it was a monumental effort.

It’s not like him to be jealous, or to care much at all, but he could still feel the strength of
James’ grip on his chin while reading those comments. He could still hear James’ laugh, his
voice, the low hum of his car. Little things that feel like they belong to Regulus, even though
he knows they don’t.

Now, he pulls up James’ profile for Dorcas, ashamed that jfprongs is the first username in his
search list. “He only has sixteen photos.” His words come out a bit garbled and petulant; his
cheek is still smushed on Barty’s thigh. “None of them give anything away, either. Nothing
new, anyway.”

“How many people does he follow?” Evan asks Dorcas, who’s just passed the phone to Lily
with a raised brow.

“Zero.”

“How many follow him?”

Pandora hums appreciatively at a carousel of Forbes photographs. “Over three hundred
thousand.”

“Damn,” Barty marvels. “A decent ratio.” He slips a hand into Regulus’ curls and runs his
other through Evan’s fine blonde hair. “How old is his oldest photo?”

Lily passes the phone to Evan, who makes an appreciative noise similar to his sister’s and
replies, “It’s from three years ago. Oh, Reggie, I feel like this one has to be your personal
fave.”

He’s not wrong. It’s a photo of James in a tourist’s tiki bar in Bora Bora. He’s in boardshorts
and sitting shirtless at a counter with a giant margarita in hand. His grin is blinding, his skin
several shades darker with a gorgeous tan.

“Only sixteen photos in three years?” asks Marlene with a slight frown. “Seems a bit…”

“In his defense, I don’t use social media much, either. I don’t even have any pictures.”

“Because your parents are certifiable,” Dorcas points out. “What’s his excuse?”

“Ev, give it back.” Regulus reaches for his phone over Barty’s spread legs. Reluctantly, Evan
hands it to him.

It’s at this point that it all goes a bit…wrong.

Evan didn’t lock the screen, and his thumb is positioned right over the dated picture. It’s a
perfect sequence of events—Evan’s thumb hits the screen, Regulus’ thumb hits it right after
as he moves to take it back, and a little red, animated heart appears.

“Fuck. Shit.” Regulus grabs the phone, frantically hitting the little red heart to make it go
away.

“What?” the girls ask, turning their heads again.

In his panic, he unlikes the photo—only to accidentally like it again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He
stares in horror at the heart that was once an outlined shape, but is now glaringly red. “I liked
the picture. The old one. Evan’s thumb and—and my thumb and—Shit.”

The girls giggle but turn their attention back to the TV screen. They seem entirely
unimpressed with his mild panic. Barty, however, gives his head a gentle but firm pat.

“He’s got over three hundred thousand followers, Reggie. I’m sure he hardly checks
Instagram. He probably has his notifications off. I doubt he’ll even—”

Regulus’ phone buzzes, and his cheeks burst into flame when he reads the text pop-ups as
they come in at the top of his screen:
James
Stalking my pictures during movie night?
Must not be a good movie.
I have better ones than that, if you want to see.
All you have to do is ask :)

“Whoopsies.” Barty pats Regulus’ head again. This time, it’s with an air of sympathy. “Looks
like he noticed.”

This gets the girls’ attention once more. At this rate, it’ll be ten years before they pick a
movie.

“He did?!” Pandora’s grin is a discomforting devious twin of her brother’s. “What did he
say? Oh, I can’t wait to see you try to talk your way out of this one.”

Marlene cackles. “Look at them. They’re redder than the strawberries again.”

Regulus tries to stick out his tongue, but the barbell run through it clinks against the back of
his teeth. Heart in his throat and anxious, he almost bites down wrong and swears anew. This
whole situation is embarrassing. He loathes feeling like he’s been caught.

And how is he meant to explain this? Oh, I was just showing off your pictures to my friends
because I’m not at all interested enough to tell them about you. Or maybe he could try I
accidentally found your profile and accidentally clicked on the oldest photo and then also
accidentally liked it. Oops?

“Just be honest with him,” says Lily from the floor. She nudges Pandora for another piece of
cheese and a small cracker. “Flirt, Reggie. You’re generally pretty damn good at it. I don’t
know what it is about this guy that’s got you all twisted up.”

Regulus wishes he could answer her.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Reg,” adds Evan. “You could put a leash and collar on
him and it would have the same effect. He’s interested, so just flirt with the man.”

“Flirt, flirt, flirt!” Dorcas and Marlene begin to chant until all of Regulus’ friends have joined
in.

“Okay!” he shouts over their voices. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

Barty ruffles his curls. “What’s that little green dude say in those movies you like?”

“Oh, I know this one!” Lily pipes up. “‘There is no try, only do, and do not.”

“Bingo. Thanks, Lils. So do, Reggie, or I’ll figure out a way to haul him into bed with me
and Evan instead. The clock is ticking. Marls, can we pick a movie already?”
Regulus turns over on his back and opens the text thread with James. He ignores his friends
as they bicker over the night’s film choice—Dorcas and Marlene want something lesbian,
Pandora and Evan want horror, Lily wants a romcom, and Barty is hellbent on action.

But Regulus? Well…

Regulus
I wasn’t stalking. Your profile is public.

James
That picture is from 3 years ago.

Regulus
You only have 16.
What else am I supposed to look at?

James
I told you I have better ones.

Regulus
I’ll be the judge of that.

He sets his phone face down on his chest. It buzzes a moment later; he doesn’t want to look
yet. Sure, he egged James on, but… His cheeks still burn. He turns his head to press one
against the rough material of Barty’s jeans.

Just look, he tells himself, fingers tightening around the edges of his phone. The picture won’t
bite.

He lowers his brightness a smidge so Barty can’t snoop. But when he opens the attachment
from James, it’s nothing more than a simple selfie. He’s smiling; it looks like he’s sitting at a
desk. Regulus turns up his brightness to see the details, pulling his lips between his teeth to
hide his grin.

Regulus
Not bad.

James
A tough critic.
Out of 10?

Regulus
I’d say this one is a…
4
James
Ouch. REAL tough critic.

Regulus
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Lily was right—Regulus knows how to flirt. He’s damn good at it. The problem? So is
James. And the bigger problem? Regulus might be flirting a little too close to the sun. He’s
feeling a bit like Icarus, dangerously poking at a much more formidable foe than he’s used to.

His phone buzzes.

James
What about this one?

Regulus has to fight to keep the whimper in his throat from slipping past his lips. A quick
glance tells him his friends are still focused on the film. It’s an action movie, something with
Tom Cruise. No one cares what he’s up to now that they’re distracted.

It’s just him, his phone, and a very shirtless James Potter against the world.

Despite the quickening of his pulse at the sight of a bronze chest and abdomen, he opts for
nonchalance. James isn’t the only one who can play this game.

Regulus
Better.

James
Hit me with a number.
I need to know where I stand.

Regulus
5

James
No shirt is only a 5?!

Regulus
You were shirtless in Bora Bora.
It’s still nothing I haven’t seen before.
James
Fair.
Alright, gimme a sec :)

The added smiley face feels ominous. He is definitely flirting too close to the sun.

He sets his phone down again and turns his attention to the movie. Minutes tick by with no
vibration. He checks a time or two, but there’s nothing new. Maybe James is on a business
call?

Regulus resists the urge to look at the shirtless picture again. It feels like giving in; he will
maintain control over this. Over himself, at least. Zooming in to see if James matches the
photoshoot pictures and has a mole on his hipbone is not maintaining control over himself.

His phone buzzes against his sternum and his heart leaps into his throat.

1 New Attachment.

All of that time for one photo?

With trepidation, he dims his screen a little more and opens the attachment.

Only to nearly drop his phone right on his chest when he sees what James has sent him. It’s
from a different angle, and James is no longer sitting at a desk but in his bed, propped against
a pile of pillows. Regulus doesn’t know what he was wearing before, but he’s in a pair of
light gray joggers now. They sit low on his hips, and—yes, there it is. That damn mole on his
hipbone.

Regulus has the immediate and violent urge to put his tongue to it.

This picture is almost a selfie. Half of James’ face is in it, his expression smug as hell, but the
emphasis is clearly not on anything above the neck.

Below the belt, though?

James
Number me, baby.

His brain is not working properly. He can all but hear James say it, knows the cadence of his
voice and the way his tone dips to a lower register. His last bit of sanity sounds no better than
a dial-up tone the longer he stares at the lines of James’ chest, the sharp cut of a V leading—

He crosses his legs, desperate to hide the twitch of interest his cock gives. Wearing joggers
tonight was a monumental fuck up he hadn’t anticipated.
And yet, he can’t help but wonder if James took more than this one in the long minutes
between texts.

Regulus
A 6, but +1 for lighting.

He knows he’s being harsh. Maybe even a little mean.

Here he is receiving picture after picture when he hasn’t sent a damn thing in return. Usually
men ask him for something by now. And even if James did google him, he wouldn’t find
much beyond a sparse Wikipedia page and a few articles from when he was a kid.

Running away at eighteen has its perks. His parents made sure to scrub him from the media
when he was still young, and they didn’t have time to exploit his face once he became an
adult. There are no Forbes exposés or Times articles about him. In this, he has the upper
hand.

And yet, his phone buzzes again.

1 New Attachment.

His nerves are no longer from anxiety, but from…anticipation. He’s almost never on the
receiving end of risqué photos. He’s usually the one sending them, battling poses and lighting
and flimsy lingerie.

This is new.

No, even better—this is fun.

James
Alright critic, how’s this?

Regulus doesn’t have time to hold in this whimper. It escapes of its own volition, but he’s
damn lucky it’s at the exact moment Tom Cruise blows up several cars. No one hears him
react to the new photo taking up his whole screen.

It’s not a full-on nude, but that might’ve been less obscene than this. Because this is James’
hand curved around a sizable bulge, and the visible part of his face wears a shit-eating grin,
bottom lip pulled between a row of pearly white teeth.

Regulus knows what that bulge feels like underneath him. He’s pressed his hand against it,
ground down on it while dancing. But he’s never had a whole handful of it, and the last brain
cells bouncing around in his skull are now supplying him with images that, if he isn’t careful,
will start to make him drool.

James
Come on, critic.
I’m waiting.

Regulus
8.5

He’s barely breathing, but James doesn’t need to know that.

James
I’ll accept nothing less than a 10.
Tell me what I need to do to get there.

Regulus swallows his heart; it’s lodged itself in his throat. His mind reels from the question.
It’s put the proverbial ball in his court. Does he dare volley it back?

Then again, James is playing as much as he is.

Fuck it.

His friends are still distracted by the movie, which now has jam-packed action sequences
with plenty of noise. They don’t notice him sneak off down the hall to the guest bathroom,
and if they do, they don’t question it. He locks the door and hops up on the counter, legs
dangling. His foot wiggles from nerves as he types. Deletes. Types again.

Regulus
You want a 10 that much?

James
From you? Absolutely.

Regulus
An 8.5 isn’t bad.

James
It’s not a 10.
“Damn you,” he mutters, foot wiggling more anxiously than before.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see what James has hidden underneath his joggers. He
absolutely does. The thing is… He’s never asked a guy to send a picture of his dick. They just
do.

Unsolicited, usually, and more often than not with some lewd tagline attached that makes him
cringe. They’re always terrible shots, too—bad lighting, rough angles, weird poses.
Sometimes, when he looks at them, he wonders if he’s really gay at all.

I can’t possibly prefer dick when it looks like this.

But his curiosity has been building for over a month now. He’s let James live rent-free in his
mind long enough. Once he knows, maybe he’ll get it out of his system. If it gives him the
ick, he’ll be safe.

…Right?

In a brief stroke of bravery, he types, counts down from three, and—

Regulus
If you want a 10, take it all off.

Oh, he’s done it now.

His nerves skyrocket right through the ceiling. He’s on his feet, pacing the length of Barty
and Evan’s small bathroom. It’s fine, it’s fine. He’s flirting back. He doesn’t think this is weird.
Surely he wanted you to ask. Regulus eyes his phone where it lies face up on the counter. He’s
into this, too. This is finefinefine.

He’s sexted before. Not with someone like James, but—

No.

He’s not going down this route, either.

James isn’t anyone special. They’re not dating. And Regulus does not have a crush on him,
that’s for damn sure. This is just another hot guy he’ll make a notch in his bedpost with.
James’ end goal is the same as the rest of them. He knows this. He’s accepted it.

The least he can do is have a little fun in the meantime.

He’ll play coy. Push buttons and test limits. James will break; they always do. He’ll ask for
pictures in return, but Regulus won’t send them. No, he won’t offer up a damn thing. If he
wants to win, he has to make James beg. Turn the tables, make him want so bad he forgets his
whole shtick about Regulus’ control issues. Sure, he might have them, but that doesn’t mean
he won’t still get his just desserts in the end.

His phone buzzes on the counter.

1 New Attachment—and the moment of truth.

He opens it, bracing himself against the wall. He slides down to the floor and swipes his
finger slowly across the screen. James’ pictures have been good so far, but a dick pic is the
true test of nude artistry. They’re damn near impossible to get right.

Except…

Regulus blinks, unsure at first of what he’s seeing. It’s a selfie…of sorts. A picture that
clearly required some work on James’ part.

He lies on his side, head propped on his fist and that cheeky grin in place. The whole pose
makes him look like Adonis, something mouthwatering to look at, and it only serves to piss
Regulus off. He was hoping to get the ick; it would douse the warmth pooling in his abdomen
in a heartbeat.

But no, he’s looking at this picture with all the disrespect he can manage. His eyes follow the
long lines of James’ legs, the muscles forming strong thighs. He would keep going, content to
drink it all in, but—

“Oh, that’s mean.”

He glares at where James holds a small throw pillow over his groin—intentionally hiding the
goods. It’s cruel, considering Regulus was just pacing the bathroom over this photo. But
James doesn’t know that. Nor does he know that Regulus has stretched out his legs, unable to
keep his hand from slipping beneath the waistband of his joggers.

“Shit,” he breathes, eyelids fluttering shut at the first brush of his fingers over where he’s
filled out, hard and aching. “This is—ngh—Oh, this is so messed up.”

He doesn’t care. He can still hear the movie from the living room. It’s a cacophony of loud
voices and sporadic booms and constant gunfire. They won’t hear him in here, and he sure as
hell can’t go back out there like this. His only option is—

His phone buzzes incessantly.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t, but that last picture did him in. There are no more
brain cells left to tell him this is a bad idea. Keep control, Regulus. Keep—

“Hi, baby. Disappointed?”

His hand stutters, he groans, and his head falls back against the wall. His breathing is already
ragged; it’s made worse when he drags his thumb through the leaking head of his cock, eyes
squeezed tightly shut.
James is silent for a beat too long.

“No,” Regulus says through gritted teeth. “But it wasn’t a ten.”

“Sure it was. I took it all off just like you told me to.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

James laughs, but it sounds strained. “So you are disappointed.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it is what you meant.”

Regulus’ head fucking spins. Warmth pools in his spine. He doesn’t have the mental faculty
to spar with James. Not when he can so clearly picture that damn mole right there on James’
hip, begging for him to taste it. And maybe, when he’s finished there, he’ll move across.
Down. Up. There’s so much for him to explore. A whole uncharted land, and—

“Regulus. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he breathes, but even he knows it’s not believable. It’s so very, very obvious what
he’s doing. Especially when he moans, the friction and warmth of his hand not enough. He
needs to imagine it’s James’ or he won’t get close to the edge. “I’m—in the bathroom.”

“Doing what?”

Regulus doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to come up with a witty reply.

He hears sheets rustle over the line. “Imagine it’s me.”

“W-What? I’m not—”

“Piensa en mí.”

Regulus whines and squeezes his eyes shut tighter. There’s white noise between his ears. The
distant sounds of the action film fade away, and there’s only him with James’ voice in his ear.
“I thought you said you won’t fuck me,” he whispers, fingers as tight around his phone as
they are around his cock.

“I won’t. Not yet.” There’s a grin in James’ voice. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t make you
come. So imagine it’s me, and tell me how it feels.”

“Good,” he breathes, giving into it. It’s a terrible, no good, very bad choice, but it’s nice, for
once, to have someone else fulfill his fantasy. “But I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Your friends?”

“Living—room. Don’t wanna think—about them, though.”

James chuckles, something warm and deep in his chest, and Regulus wants him to do it
again. “I hate that we don’t have much time.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve to be edged. If I had the time, I would draw this out until you’re
shaking.”

Regulus pushes his joggers down around his knees. He lodges the phone between his ear and
shoulder, reaches for the hem of his tee, and takes it between his teeth. He can tell James is
the sort to talk him through it.

All he has to do is listen.

“But since I don’t have the time for that, this’ll have to do. We have to be quick about it,
right? You should move faster. I would.”

Regulus whimpers around the fabric between his teeth, hand tight around his phone again to
keep it in place. He opens his eyes to watch his other hand move steadily, thumb brushing
over the head of his cock with each upstroke. He’s made a mess of himself, but managed to
keep the wetness from his clothes by some miracle.

“God, and I hate that you have to be this quiet.” James’ tone is so bloody even. He knows
what Regulus is doing. He knows why Regulus is doing it. And yet, his voice doesn’t waver
when he continues, “If you’re this quiet when I fuck you, then I haven’t done my job.”

Whenwhenwhenwhen.

He hates that he could get used to this in his ear.

He hates that he’s thinking about James breaking him apart piece by piece.

He hates that it’s a when, as though James already knows his victory is certain.

He hates that he knows what’s happened. That if someone were keeping score, weighing the
balance of this game they’ve been playing for weeks, then this round isn’t his.

Regulus lost this one.

“You’re close, aren’t you, love?”

Fuck it. He’ll worry about it later.

He makes a soft noise of assent. His jaw aches from how hard he bites on the cotton between
his teeth, and there’s a line of spit trailing down his chin. A mess. He’s a fucking mess, and
he doesn’t even care. Doesn’t care that it’s in someone else’s bathroom, that he’s breathing
heavy and so damn close, because James chuckles again, that smooth, warm sound, and
Regulus is gone.
It hits him hard and fast as a high-speed train. He’s thrown off the edge so violently he cries
out, the sound muffled only by the fabric he’s ruined with his own spit. His back arches, tight
as a bowstring, and there are black splotches on his vision. Warm strands paint his abdomen,
coat his fingers.

His body goes limp, all of the fire in him spent.

“Reg, baby, you still with me?”

“Mm.” He doesn’t want to let go of his T-shirt.

James laughs, clearly pleased. “I didn’t expect this reaction from those pictures. They were
completely innocent.”

“Liar,” Regulus mumbles around the shirt. “You knew.”

“Are you biting something?”

“Shirt.”

“That’s adorable.”

Regulus glares at the cabinets in front of him. “Fuck you.”

“You can someday.” The clink of a dish, the whir of a coffee pot. “Clean yourself up. You
were good for me. I’ll wait.”

The praise renders him useless for a few more seconds before he musters up the strength to
set his phone on the tile, get to his feet, and start the agitating process of cleaning up the mess
he’s made. He avoids his reflection in the mirror; he knows he’s flushed with a slight sheen of
sweat on his brow.

Barty and Evan will know the second he comes back into the living room that he’s been up to
no good.

He washes his hands, then digs around underneath the sink for a washcloth to scrub his
abdomen clean. The entire time, his phone remains on the floor, seconds ticking into minutes
while James waits.

You were good for me you were good for me you were good for me.

Regulus swears under his breath and hangs the damp washcloth over the tub basin. He tries to
clear his head, to collect himself, but he has you were good for me on such a constant loop
that he knows it’s all he’ll think of for days to come. No one has ever said it to him. Not that
he can remember, anyway.

And definitely not like that.

“Okay,” he says when he picks up his phone. “I’m…done.”

“Are you gonna go back and join them?”

“I should. I’ve been gone too long.”

James hums under his breath. “When can I see you?”

“I work Monday night. My usual shift.”

“I’ll be there. But I meant… You and me. Outside of the club.”

Regulus swallows. His jaw aches, his bottom lip tingles, and he’s started swirling his tongue.
Metal clinks against his teeth repeatedly. It’s been a while since he opted for this nervous
habit. “Like…another date?”

“I told you I wanted to take you on more.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“Then we can do another time.”

Regulus runs a finger along the edge of the counter and takes on an air of nonchalance when
he asks, “And what if I have a date with someone else?”

He needs to know if James will crack. He’s off-kilter. The last tendrils of his orgasm still
cling to him, and something in his chest burns to realize it’s James’ fault. That a few risqué
photos was all it took to get him on the floor of his best friends’ bathroom, pants down and
hand fisted around his cock with all the finesse of a teenager.

Since when has he ever been this desperate?

No, he needs to know James’ breaking point—because it has to be before his own.

“Then call me when you get tired of him.”

The evenness. The goddamn nonchalance. Regulus gapes at his own reflection. “That’s it?
Just call you if I’m bored of him?”

“When, love. Not if.”

“Bold of you.”

“And I mean every word.” There’s a beep, then liquid pouring. “Text me when you’re
home?”

Regulus inhales sharply through his nose. His initial instinct is to snap, You’re not my
boyfriend. Quit being sweet, but instead, he hears himself say, “Okay. I will.”

“Brilliant. Oh, and Regulus?”

“Hm?”
“I meant what I said.” James pauses, and there’s the clink of a dish against the counter. “I
don’t have to fuck you to make you come. Goodnight.”

The line goes silent, and Regulus is alone.

He stares at his reflection for a minute longer, willing the flush in his cheeks to go. His eyes
are bright but slightly glazed over, and though he splashed water on his face, there’s still
something in his expression that screams, I just had quasi-phone sex in your bathroom.

It takes him another minute to register the complete silence coming from the living room.

Damn it.

With the last dregs of his dignity, he slips his phone in the pocket of his joggers, tries to tuck
the still drying bit of his shirt out of sight, and pads softly back into the living room.

Six pairs of eyes watch him come around the corner.

“That was incredibly disrespectful to the art of Mission Impossible,” deadpans Barty.

Dorcas nods solemnly. “Tom Cruise would be devastated to hear that his masterpiece of a
film was so sordidly disrespected.”

Regulus flips them both off and marches to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water, aware of
six heavy stares as he drinks in hearty gulps. When he’s done, he squishes the plastic and
tosses it in the recycling bin. “I don’t know what you’re all on about. I just went to the
bathroom.”

“For an hour?”

“I had a lot to think about.”

Lily shakes her head with a sigh. “Honestly, that’s fair. It’s like I said before—all of your
brain cells are crowded together in your dick.”

Regulus doesn’t even have the heart to flip her off. He snatches a handful of cheese and
crackers from the half-eaten charcuterie board, settles on the sofa with his feet in Barty’s lap,
and asks, “One more movie?”

“Will you actually watch this one?” Marlene gives him a pointed look.

“I’ll try, but I might fall asleep. I’m a little worn out.”

His friends collectively groan, but Lily tells Dorcas to put on The Breakfast Club. It’s an old
favorite of their group. It reminds me of us, Pandora said once. A little group of misfits who
somehow managed to come together. Before the opening credits even start to roll, Regulus’
eyelids grow heavy.

He thinks of James somewhere in London. Does he live in a mansion? A penthouse? A

modest flat just big enough for one? He’s probably working, deep in whatever it is a CEO
does at ten p.m. on a Friday night. Contracts, maybe. Quarterly numbers. Should Regulus
ask? Should he bother showing interest in the deeper pieces of James’ life and work?

“Hey,” Barty murmurs, nudging his foot. “If you’re that tired, just sleep here.”

“Mm.”

“I mean it, Reg. You’re half-asleep.”

Regulus pulls his phone out of his pocket. He doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t know
why he even cares. But he finds himself typing anyway, his screen too bright for his tired
eyes.

Regulus
Sleepy. Gonna sleep. Friend’s house OK.
Goodnight.

He doesn’t even remember sending the text, but there’s a buzz a few seconds later. He stares
at the little reaction bubble sent by James. It’s not a thumbs up this time, but a heart.
Something inconsequential. Plenty of people use it. Regulus himself sometimes does.

Still, he can’t deny the way his own heart takes an extra step, a little leap.

He does his best not to think about it while the movie plays and he drifts. He’s afraid that if
he gives the stutter of his heart any weight, he won’t like the road his thoughts take him down
—or what the final destination means.
 sleazin’ and teasin’, i’m sittin’ on him
Chapter Notes

ride🫠
they're menaces, but they're writing themselves at this point and i'm just along for the
enjoy <3

p.s. there's (slightly nsfw) art from alex at the end :)

The café is busier than Regulus expected it would be on a Friday morning, even for Covent
Garden. He sits alone at a table half in and half out of the elements, a steaming mug of tea
clutched between his hands. He’s in the middle of attempting to cool it with steady breaths
when his phone vibrates on the table in front of him.

James F. Potter sent you £500.00 & it’s ready now.

Regulus’ eyes narrow to thin slits. He hasn’t talked to James since yesterday. He glances
towards the bathroom, bottom lip rolling between his teeth. There’s a line long enough to
give him a few undisturbed minutes to see what James wants.

Regulus
Why did you just send me £500?

James
Hi, baby.
I’m stuck in a meeting and bored out of my mind.
What are you doing?

Regulus
I’m on a date.

James
Oooh. Who’s the lucky guy?

Regulus
His name is Connor.

Connor is a new addition—and a necessary one.

After last Friday’s debacle in Barty and Evan’s bathroom, Regulus backpedaled hard. He
woke up the following morning on his friends’ sofa with a blanket thrown over him and a
slight headache. The onslaught of memories hit him like a high speed train, and he ducked
under the blanket with a yelp. He refused to emerge until Barty physically pushed him off the
sofa and onto the floor.

He ignored James’ texts on Saturday, turned his phone off completely on Sunday, and when
Monday rolled around, he fully expected James to skip out on his shift. Regulus had
practically ghosted him, after all. But James did show. He sat in his usual seat to watch
Regulus dance, drank a single glass of whisky, then left without a word. And without asking
for a private dance.

For no discernible reason, it set Regulus’ teeth on edge. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
For James to lose interest and leave him be? As it was, he was letting James get too close.
Giving up his name, going on a date, letting James know where he lives…

Regulus could feel himself dangling off a cliff’s edge with no more than a tenuous grip to
keep him from a long, hard fall.

So he went home, slept nearly half the day, and when he woke, downloaded a dating app he
deleted weeks ago when he met Benjy. At the time, he had grand and noble plans to ditch the
roster he’d accumulated and would pick from whenever he felt like it.

But Regulus hasn’t reached out to Benjy in over a week. Not since his date with James. It’s
possible Benjy got the message that Regulus isn’t interested in more than the occasional call
after midnight. Regardless, he wanted something different on Tuesday night.

Enter: Connor.

Connor, who seems nice enough and bought him tea. Connor, who Regulus matched with at
six p.m. and was under by nine. Connor, who went home the next morning but came back the
next night, and the one after that. Who offered to buy coffee this morning when he finally
rolled out of bed to find Regulus in his usual seat at the dining table, Lego set nearly finished.

James
You shouldn’t be texting me if you’re on a date.
Or is there trouble with Calvin already? :(

Regulus
Connor.
It’s going great actually.
He’s just in the loo.

James
An Oxbridge wannabe?
 Regulus
A Cambridge grad.
How did you know?

James
Lucky guess.

Regulus types, deletes, types again. He doesn’t know how to reply, even though he still wants
to—which is the exact opposite of what he should be doing.

Connor’s only true purpose is to remind him he doesn’t feel anything special for James. That
the jackrabbit beat of his heart every time his phone lights up means nothing. It could happen
with anyone. Even now, when he’s anxiously typing and deleting response after possible
response, he won’t acknowledge the uptick in his heart rate, the sudden nervous energy under
his skin.

He sips his tea. It’s still too hot, but it’s welcome in the biting mid-December cold. He really
wishes they’d managed to snag a table fully inside. His ear will start to ache soon, and with it
will come a migraine.

His phone lights up again.

No, his stomach does not flip.

James
Has Carter come back yet?

Regulus
Connor.
No, he’s still in the loo.
Why do you care?

James
Just curious.
Did he fuck you?

Regulus almost spits his tea out all over the table. He manages to swallow it down, but it’s
piping hot and burns his throat. An elderly woman gives him a concerned glance, one thin
brow raised. He waves her off, still choking, until she turns around.

Regulus
What kind of question is that?!
James
A curious one.

Regulus
Aren’t you in a meeting?

James
Irrelevant.

Regulus
I’m not answering.

James
Oooh. So he did.
And you’re getting coffee after?
He must not have been half bad.
Tell Caleb I said good job.

Regulus
CONNOR.

Good job? Good job? James can’t be serious.

Regulus looks up to check the bathroom line. There are two people in front of Connor, who
leans against the wall while scrolling through his phone. As if sensing Regulus’ gaze, he
glances up, grins, and winks. He’s handsome in a Ken doll sort of way—perfect hair, perfect
teeth, perfect clothes, and ready for a magazine spread at any moment.

It shouldn’t annoy Regulus as much as it does that Connor’s warm, friendly expression and
suggestive wink make him feel absolutely nothing. Still, he manages a small smile before
returning his attention to his phone.

James
One more question?
Then I’ll let you get back to your date with Charlie.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Regulus
What now?
James
How many times did he make you come?

Regulus
?!?!?!?!?!?!

James
:)

Regulus
You’re out of line.

James
I’m curious.
And this meeting is very boring.
Humor me?

Regulus
I will not.

James
Pretty please?
Or do you need another £500?

Regulus
NO.

James
Bummer. I was ready.
Should I beg then? Get on my knees?

Regulus
N. O.

James
Once? Twice?
Three times???

Regulus
If I tell you will you stop asking?

James
Pinky promise.

Regulus
Twice.

James
Amateur.
Regulus gapes at the screen. He really didn’t mean to tell James anything at all, but he
doesn’t know how to act when it comes to this man. Any other would’ve folded and told
Regulus enough. Lesser men might have blocked him and decided he isn’t worth all this
damn trouble.

But James is apparently built a little different, and Regulus has no fucking idea what to do
about it.

He types furiously, his tea forgotten where it steadily cools on the table.

Regulus
Amateur?!

James
I said what I said.

Regulus
And what do you think YOU are?
YOU only made me come once!

James
Valid.
But I didn’t even have to touch you.

Regulus is seething. Mostly because James is right. A few risqué pictures, some gentle
coaxing in a deep, honey smooth voice, and Regulus was coming all over his hand with stars
behind his eyelids. It was one of the best orgasms he’s had in ages. Not even Connor, for all
of his decent skills, has managed to surpass it.

James
See you tonight?

He wants to ask if James will do what he did on Monday and sit watching without a word,
but it feels too much like defeat. Instead, Regulus sends a middle finger emoji and puts his
phone on Do Not Disturb just as Connor slides into his seat.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says, smiling in that too-perfect way. “The line was so long. Didn’t
expect that.”

“No worries. My tea is still hot.”

“Oh, thank God. So is my coffee.” Connor takes a sip, then makes a contented noise. His
eyes are a warm caramel color and filled with a light Regulus knows well. Most men have it
the morning after when he agrees to get coffee or lunch. Like there’s some shared secret
between them because they slept together before the actual date.

Regulus finds it immensely irritating.

Or maybe it’s the residual frustration from his conversation with James. Will they ever not
bicker? It’s not as though they can’t have normal interactions. Regulus knows they can. Just
the other night, when he couldn’t sleep and sat piecing together the remaining bits of
Rivendell, James called him out of the blue—at 3:52 a.m.

He thought it was James giving in, begging to be let into his bed. But no, it wasn’t that at all.
James had seemed surprised when Regulus answered, only to quickly recover and explain, “I
couldn’t sleep. Figured if you couldn’t either, we could talk.”

“At four in the morning?”

“Does that matter?”

Regulus couldn’t come up with an excuse. Connor had left around midnight; he was alone.
So he’d put James on speaker, and they talked until well after the sunrise. They chatted about
school and work, about some of the more ridiculous clients Regulus has fielded while
dancing, about an impending board meeting responsible for James’ lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until Regulus’ eyelids started to droop and his words began to slur that James told
him to go to bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell right to sleep.

“Regulus? You with me?”

He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. “Sorry. Just a little tired.”

Connor smirks. “I wonder why.”

Amateur—the word bounces around in his skull; he can all but hear it in James’ voice. The
haughty way he’d say it, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world to him. It makes Regulus’
blood simmer, and he plasters on a smirk of his own. “As great as this tea is, I really could’ve
used a little more time in bed…”

“Oh?” Connor pauses with his mug halfway to his lips. “We could ask for to-go cups, if you
want. I’m free this afternoon…”

“Brilliant.” Regulus grins in full and settles his chin on his fist. He makes sure to look up
from underneath his lashes, laying it on thick. “So am I. Should we go?”

“Fuck yeah. Give me a sec to get the cups.”

Regulus—who is now convinced he might actually be a masochist—reaches for his phone

the second Connor’s back is turned.
 Regulus
What if he gets me off 3 times?

James
Then I’ll get you off 4.
I enjoy a challenge. Don’t you?

Regulus
This is all a game to you isn’t it?

James
It’s whatever you want it to be.
Either way I’m just getting started.
Tell Chase I said hi :)

Regulus
It’s CONNOR!

All he gets in return is a thumbs up and no reply.

The club is packed, but this comes as no surprise. It’s a Friday night, a little after eleven, and
for the next few hours, there will be a nonstop rotation of men at the bar, on the couches, in
private rooms.

Regulus leans his elbows on the bartop behind him. A glass full of red liquid with a lime slice
on the rim dangles from his fingertips. He’s on break—finally. He shouldn’t be drinking, but
it pays to be best friends with the bartender.

He refuses to admit he’s waiting for James. Despite the cheeky See you tonight? text, he
knows better than to get his hopes up. And isn’t that the whole point? To keep his
expectations low, practically nonexistent, and get rid of this strange thing that settles in his
chest whenever James is involved.

In contrast, men like Connor are safe. He doesn’t feel anything for them beyond the
necessary interest required to allow them inside his flat. Which, he did. And Connor seemed
all too willing to follow Regulus inside, their almost finished cups of tea and coffee forgotten
on the credenza in Regulus’ entryway.

Somewhat reluctantly, he’d checked his phone numerous times while getting ready for work.
Connor had left a few hours beforehand, and his flat was suffocatingly quiet. Even his phone
remained silent outside of the group text with his friends. Nothing more came from James
after the thumbs up.

Regulus still isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed.

With a heavy sigh, he twists around to set his now empty glass on the bar. “One more,” he
calls to Evan.

“You’re lucky Riddle isn’t here tonight to be on my ass about this.” Evan snatches Regulus’
glass and a bottle of vodka from under the counter. “You know you’re not supposed to drink
on the clock.”

“I’m on break.”

Evan splashes cranberry juice in the glass, but the ratio is definitely heavier on the vodka.
“That’s still on the clock.”

“Semantics.” When Evan slides the finished cocktail across the counter, Regulus adds in a
sing-song, “Tha-a-ank you.”

He gets a middle finger and an eye roll before Evan heads for the opposite end of the bar. His
attention is on a man waving bank notes in the air with the vigor of someone who’s
experiencing a strip club for the first time. They’re easy to spot: wide-eyed, flushed, a little
fidgety. The I shouldn’t be here, but here I am types, as if this is an illegal speakeasy in the
1920s.

Regulus watches this one, lips wrapped around a thin black straw, teeth clenched tight to slow
the flow of his cocktail. The guy is young. Maybe even younger than Regulus. He’s in his
early twenties with neatly cropped, dusty hair and wide, brown eyes. When he catches
Regulus watching him from across the bar, he blushes clear to the tips of his ears. They jut
out a little. A rugby player, perhaps.

He looks away, but Regulus lets his own gaze linger until the man risks a second glance. His
cheeks go ruddy when Regulus opts for a sultry, crooked grin, the straw still held between his
teeth. It’s obvious he’s not a customer—the black silk slip tied around his waist might cover
the skin underneath, but his legs are long and slender, bare except for translucent thigh high
stockings. Even with the Docs on his feet, loose and undone, it’s clear he is not a casual
patron.

Regulus will give this one some credit—he squares his shoulders, grabs his drink, and heads
directly for where Regulus leans on the high counter. His drink is half-finished, a pleasant
combination of bitter and sweet. He should savor it. Evan won’t give him another, and he still
has five minutes of his break left.

“Hey there,” says Mr. Rugby. He sets his drink on the bar and sidles up next to Regulus. He’s
tall and broad, all shoulders with a narrow waist.

“Lame. Try again.” Regulus crosses his ankles, knocking the toe of his boot against his heel.
“Don’t make eyes from across the bar if that’s going to be your only opener.”
Mr. Rugby blinks a few times, clearly taken aback. “I—Okay. Can I start over?”

“You can. But you only have until I finish my drink.”

“Shit. Okay. My name is Jeremy. I, erm, I saw you from across the bar and you’re… Well,
you’re fucking stunning, if I’m honest.” Mr. Rugby—Jeremy—rubs at the back of his neck.
His cheeks are bright red. “You work here, right? Kinda got that vibe…”

“Better. Less fumbling next time, though.” Regulus sets his glass on the counter. There’s a
little vodka left, but he has time. Jeremy seems the type to cough up his entire paycheck if
Regulus plays his cards right.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“It truly pains me to say this, but my real name is a secret. I do wish I could tell you, though.”

Jeremy frowns. “Is there something else I can call you? A different name?”

“Ophidian.”

“Oh. That’s unique.”

With practiced shyness, Regulus shifts the hem of his slip to expose the snake wound around
his left thigh. He wants to laugh when Jeremy’s eyes drop right to it, gaze slipping from
curiosity to hunger in less time than even he could’ve anticipated. “Of and resembling
serpents,” he explains, dropping the slip back into place.

“How much?”

The question sours Regulus’ mood immediately. Even though this is the entire reason he
made eyes at this guy in the first place, the lack of tact, the audacity and bluntness of the
question, make it difficult to hide the way his lip threatens to curl.

Have a little respect, he wants to say. I’m not an object on a shelf for you to purchase and
play with.

Except yes, he is.

Regulus opens his mouth to snap, I’m not for sale, but the words shrivel on his tongue when a
deep voice from behind him says, “Sorry, mate, but I don’t think you can afford him.”

Not his fault you pay thousands for thirty minutes, Regulus almost volleys back. He reaches
for his drink instead. James is dangerously close. Close enough his fingers can dance their
way under the hem of Regulus’ slip. They’re featherlight touches on the outside of his right
thigh. Hidden touches just for them.

Jeremy frowns. “I’ve got enough. They said a private dance is—”

“Price change, unfortunately. I think the going rate is… What is it now, love?”
“Five thousand,” Regulus deadpans, tossing his straw over the bar and knocking back the rest
of his drink in one swallow.

“Five th—The fuck?”

“Bummer, innit?” James’ tone is anything but sympathetic. “I recommend you try the main
floor. You’ll have better luck there.”

Jeremy looks tempted to argue, but a quick glance at the main floor, at a field of less
expensive options available, sends him scurrying down the short staircase nearby. He doesn’t
even bother to take his drink with him.

Pushed up on his tiptoes, Regulus leans over the bar to set his empty glass down on the
counter. At the gentle touch of James’ hand on the back of his exposed thigh, he spins
around. “No touching,” he hisses. “You’ll get me in trouble. You know the rules.”

“Sorry, sorry.” James grins down at him, both hands held up in surrender, and Regulus fights
to keep his heart from stumbling out of his ribcage. “I just have questions about what you’ve
got on underneath this.” He tugs at the hem of Regulus’ slip. “Are you on break?”

“Maybe.”

“Love, don’t play. I saw leather straps.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Follow me.”

“Anywhere.”

Maybe it’s the heat under his skin that makes him offer. James hasn’t stood this close to him
since last week. He lets Regulus lead him through the packed club. They wind around
numerous stages, heading for the back rooms. Regulus catches sight of Barty, who’s sizing up
Jeremy with a modicum of interest.

It’s a common misconception among most customers: strippers aren’t desperate. Not here,
anyway. They’re shopping as much as their clients. Big fish are better—less time on the floor,
more money in their pockets. It’s the reason so many dancers threw themselves at James
when he became a regular. Wealth pours off of him in waves. There’s a different energy, a
confidence that comes from a life of black tie events, annual galas, and charity balls.

Of ending requests with periods rather than question marks.

The private rooms are darker than the low-lit club. Regulus toes off his boots once they’re
inside. “Sit,” he tells James, nodding to the curved, plush couch wrapped around half of the
small room. In front of it is a raised, circular stage, and in the middle of that, a thick metal
pole. It’s irrelevant; Regulus knows what James prefers when they’re alone.

James collapses on the couch, arms stretched over the back and an ankle over his knee. He’s
in a suit but didn’t bother with the jacket, opting to roll his sleeves midway up his forearms
instead. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone. “How’s your night?”
“Fine. I’m working until one.”

“Not a long shift, then.”

Regulus shakes his head. He fiddles with the stereo system, scrolling through songs. Longer
is better; he prefers something he can loop so it feels endless. “Started at nine. It’s been busy,
but there are a lot of us tonight.”

“Mm. How was your afternoon?”

It’s not a pointed question, but considering how Regulus spent his afternoon, it feels a little
intentional. He keeps his eyes on the tablet in his hands, still searching for songs, even
though James’ gaze bores into his back. “Fine. Didn’t do much.”

“Two times or three?”

Regulus’ jaw clenches, and he risks a cutting glare over his shoulder. “That’s none of your
fucking business.”

“Just making conversation,” James says lightly, tipping his head back with a benign smile.
“Classes start up soon, don’t they? Next week?”

“After Christmas, yeah.” He hates that James remembers. Hates that James has cataloged
these things away rather than forgotten them. Warmth unfurls in Regulus’ chest, and he’d
give anything to stomp it out. You’re meant to be a client. Nothing else. Quit pretending we
can be more.

He can all but see James blurring the lines with the toe of his fine Oxfords.

“If you need anything, you’ll tell me, right?” James’ foot bounces, restless. “I mean it,
Regulus. Don’t overwork yourself if you’re worried about money. Just ask.”

“I’m fine. I make enough.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Regulus inhales a steadying breath. He agreed to this, didn’t he? He’s accepted the random
wires into his bank account with minimal protest. It’s not as if he’s sent any of it back.
Reluctantly, he says, “Okay. I’ll tell you.” It feels a little like defeat, but he can’t pretend the
extra money hasn’t been nice. He already took next week off to prepare for classes and
attempt to correct his sleeping schedule.

After a silent minute or two, he finds a song and presses play. It’s a slow, steady thrum.
Something soft until the true beat begins. James’ heavy gaze is practically a caress, and he
takes another steadying breath to keep from shivering under the weight of it.

This, at least, is familiar. They’ve done this plenty of times. He’s danced countless dances for
James in this very room, to this song and plenty others. If he shuts off the part of his brain
that knows what James looks like under dim restaurant lighting or behind the wheel of an
Aston Martin, he can almost pretend nothing has changed.
He drops his head back, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. The music washes over him,
beats a familiar rhythm in his veins until his blood settles with it. He’s good at his job for a
reason. With steady fingers, he tugs at the tie around his waist. He keeps his back to James.
Lets the slip fall from one shoulder, then the other. There’s a tattoo down his spine: the sun,
then a line of planets and stars.

“You’re teasing, love.”

Regulus turns his head to look over his shoulder. “Am I?”

“What’s underneath? I swear I saw leather.” James uncrosses his legs to lean forward. He sets
his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers under his chin. “It’s new, isn’t it? Whatever
you’re wearing.”

“Maybe.”

There’s a sparkle in James’ eyes behind his glasses. “Come here, baby. I’ve missed you.”

“No touching,” Regulus reminds him. He keeps the slip wrapped around his lower half. “You
know the rules.”

James drops back against the couch with his arms and legs spread, an open invitation. When
they’re alone, he prefers Regulus on him, not in front of him. He doesn’t care about what
Regulus can do on a pole when he’d rather see him up close.

Regulus stands between James’ knees and lets the slip fall to the floor in a pool of black silk.

“Holy shit,” James breathes, brows to his hairline and eyes wide. He reaches out a hand.
“You are—”

“No touching.”

James groans with all the finesse of a toddler who’s just been told to keep his hands out of the
cookie jar. But he listens and falls back against the couch.

It’s a showstopper of a piece. A leather belt wraps around the dip in Regulus’ waist.
Connected to it are two straps that follow the line of his body until they reach leather garters
wrapped around his thighs. These remind him of collars, complete with silver metal hoops
wherever the pieces of leather connect. The lowest garters on his thighs hold up his
stockings. Other than this, all he wears is an opaque black G-string.

It’s a damn feat to keep himself steady with the way James watches him, hunger simmering
openly in his gaze.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs when Regulus straddles him, hands sliding up his chest to undo
another button of his shirt. “Yeah, that guy at the bar didn’t deserve you for a damn second.”

“And what makes you think you do?”

“Oh, I don’t. I definitely don’t.” James shakes his head, laughing softly. “No one does. You
look incredible in this.”

“I’m hardly wearing anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. My point still stands.”

Regulus is thankful for the low lights. James won’t be able to see him blush.

It doesn’t take long for him to find a rhythm he prefers. He sets a pace that follows the song’s
beat but allows him to change his movements, to keep it interesting. He watches James watch
him. Watches pupils consume hazel irises until there’s nothing but a thin ring along the edges.

Neither of them speak. Regulus doesn’t trust himself to. Not yet. Out of the corner of his eye,
he sees James’ fingers twitch. His hands fist, unfurl, fist again. He wants to touch; he always
does. Tonight, it seems, his control is barely keeping itself contained.

Regulus is careful to hide his grin when he leans forward to mouth at James’ ear. He runs his
tongue along the curve of it, delighting in the shiver underneath him when the metal bar
catches on the shell. James’ curls smell of something citrus. They’re soft against Regulus’
cheek. He shifts in James’ lap to straddle one thigh rather than both. Pulls back, but keeps the
heat in his gaze. James is solid and thick underneath him, the fine cut of his suit straining.

Dark eyes narrow when Regulus’ hand wraps around his throat just under his jaw. “Love,” he
murmurs, a low warning. “What are you doing?”

“Why didn’t you want a private dance when you came on Monday?”

“I do have a company to run, you know.” James leans into the palm laid across his throat. “I
didn’t have much time to stick around on Monday, but I still wanted to see you.”

Regulus rolls his hips, careful to keep the movement smooth and practiced.

“Why? Are you upset with me?”

“No.”

“Is that why you let Colton fuck you?”

“Connor.”

James smirks; the amusement in it sets Regulus’ blood simmering. He’s frozen in place when
James grips his chin between thumb and forefinger, unconcerned with Regulus’ hand around
his throat. He tilts Regulus’ head left, then right, gaze snagging on a spot under his jaw. “I see
this one leaves marks.”

“He does.”

“What happened to ‘work won’t allow it’?”

“I knew you were coming tonight.”

It’s a flicker in James’ expression. Brief, there and gone in an instant, but Regulus saw it.
Suspects it could even be victory—until James pulls his hand away and stretches his arms
over the back of the sofa again. “I’m leaving for a business trip in Singapore tomorrow. I’ll
be gone for a week or so.”

“Oh?” Regulus moves his hand to cup James’ jaw, the pad of his thumb pressed to the center
of a plush lower lip. He stills his hips; there’s a warmth building in his gut, threatening to
spiral low. He thinks of everything awful—the King, his least favorite film, Marlene’s
cooking mishaps.

It does very little to help when James shifts his thigh, presses up, and Regulus has to fight to
keep from shuddering at the contact. He’s half-hard, hanging on by a thread, and it’s his own
damn fault this time. What was he thinking, straddling James like this? Except he wasn’t
thinking, and that’s the damn problem. He let his body move to wherever it wanted to be, all
under the guise of a better dance.

“Mhm,” James hums softly. “I’ll be very busy, but at least I know you’ll be taken care of
while I’m gone.”

Regulus narrows his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“This one seems a little better than the last. What was his name again? Benny?”

“Benjy.”

“Yeah, that one.” James regards Regulus with a heavy-lidded gaze. He looks up from under
his lashes, long and black as coal. “I’m not worried about it. You’ll call me when you’re
bored of him.”

“No, I won’t.”

“We’ll see.”

“And you?” Regulus snaps. “I bet you have men and women waiting in every country. You
seem like the type.”

James’ tongue flicks out to taste the tip of Regulus’ thumb. His smirk is a terribly devilish
thing. “Does it make you jealous?”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either. Regulus’ chest heats. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Worth a shot. Can I leave you with a parting gift?”

“That depends. What is it?”

James’ hand curves around his leg before he can muster a warning. Fingers dip between his
skin and one of the leather garters on his thigh, and James uses the grip to pull, to force
Regulus’ knees to spread a little more. He inhales sharply at the sudden pressure pressed
against his rapidly filling cock.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice strangled.

“Ride it.”

“James, we can’t!”

“We can do whatever we want. Break the rules a little. Besides, who else is here?” James tilts
his head, gaze flitting around the small private room pointedly. He glances at the watch on his
wrist, lips pursed. “I have to go soon. My flight leaves before dawn, so…”

Regulus grits his teeth. It takes all of his willpower not to grind down on the hard thigh
underneath him. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at all. I’m giving you something to think about while I’m gone.”

“And what if I don’t want it?”

James shrugs. “Then get up and walk away.”

He won’t. He knows he won’t, and James knows he won’t. Not when desire rips through him
hard and fast, turning his insides molten. He shouldn’t—oh, he really, really shouldn’t—but
the first roll makes him gasp. He shudders, one hand fisted in the fine material of James’
shirt. The other curls around the back of the couch, and his forehead drops forward onto
James’ shoulder.

The moan rips from him before he can stop it. It’s low and debauched, and he hears a
strangled fucking hell said on a blown out breath. James’ grip tightens around the leather
garter, coaxing Regulus into a rhythm that’s a little faster but still lands on every other beat of
the song.

James’ breath blows hot over Regulus’ ear, his lips too damn close but not close enough.
Regulus’ scratches at James’ chest, the shirt pushed aside so he can find bare skin. There’s
something animalistic about the way his blunt nails dig, sure to leave little red crescents
behind.

“Did he wring you out?” asks James.

Regulus shudders at the low timber in his voice. “No,” he admits, too busy chasing a high to
bother with lying. He recognizes the pattern now—James gets him hot under the collar in one
way or another, and he loses all ability to think straight. Truths come pouring out of him with
terrifying ease.

Teeth nibble at the shell of his ear, and Regulus practically melts. His body betrays him; it
wants too much, and James knows it. “Then you have a little left over for me,” he whispers.
“Don’t you, love?”
Regulus is aching. There’s a damp spot forming where the head of his cock threatens to peek
out from tight elastic. It’s not as though his outfit—or lack thereof—was made for this. The
scale is tipping again, a little more in James’ favor, but he’s too close to bliss to think about it.
It’ll hit later, when he’s alone in his bed and with his thoughts.

For now, all he knows is James, who’s gently talking him through it. Because of course he’s
the type to say things like so good for me, and just a little more, and come on, baby, let me
hear you. Regulus wants to curse him for it, but there’s steady warmth unfurling in his spine,
that telltale pull behind his navel. It’s the tightening of a rubber band just before it snaps—
and with his head thrown back, he lets the tether break and shatters.

It’s white noise between his ears, a burn in his veins, and Regulus doesn’t even care that he’s
lost.

There are lips on his collarbone, moving delicately over his skin. It grounds him, reminds
him where he is. All he can manage is a brokenly muttered, “Fucking hell.”

“You’re pretty when you come,” James replies simply, still kissing over Regulus’ exposed
chest. His tongue flicks at a pierced nipple, and he laughs when Regulus shivers. “I’m glad I
got to see it this time. I’ll be thinking about this all week. It’ll get me through all the terrible
panels I’m doomed to sit through.”

“I thought it was a gift for me.”

“It was. But it wasn’t only for you.”

Regulus jumps when two fingers brush through the mess on his stomach, his thighs. He
opens his eyes, still heavy with the last tendrils of pleasure, and watches James set two
fingers on his tongue. “Oh, my God,” Regulus groans, not sure what he’s meant to do with
the sight of James sucking his fingers clean. His grin when he finishes is too damn pleased.

The music still plays a steady beat, but it’s significantly slower than Regulus’ heart, which
has lodged itself in his throat. He doesn’t know how many times the song has looped. They
might be well over their usual thirty minutes, and someone could come knocking at any time.

He’s about to open his mouth, to say something despite his lust-filled haze, but he doesn’t get
the chance. James’ hands settle on his waist, lift him up off that damned thigh, and drop him
down on the couch. He lets out an oof, disorientated, as James get to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I told you I have an early flight.” James fixes the buttons on his shirt, doing them back up
properly, and reaches down to adjust himself in his trousers. He’s hard, the bulge blatantly
obvious, but he doesn’t seem at all concerned with taking care of it. “I’ll call you when I
land. It’s thirteen hours, I think. So it’ll be a while.”

“What—?” Regulus scrambles to his feet. He snatches the black slip off the floor, throws it
on, and ties it tight around his waist. He’s hot all over; even silk feels scratchy against his
skin. Thankfully, the slip hides the mess on his thighs and stomach.
James looks back when he reaches the door, one hand curled around the knob. His eyes travel
the length of Regulus’ body slowly, as if he’s trying to commit him to memory. His smile is
bright and cheeky when he looks up again. “Tell Cole he has a week. When I get back from
Singapore, I’m not sharing you anymore.”

“His name is Connor,” Regulus says through gritted teeth, but James merely gives him a
small parting wave before he slips out the door.
 i’m already actin’ like a dick, so you might as well stick it in
Chapter Notes

are 👀
i wasn't going to update so soon, but the creative juices have been flowin', so here we
enjoy <3

Saturday night is Regulus’ last shift before his week off. James is already in Singapore, and
Regulus is lost in his head. He runs through his stage routines on autopilot; the movements
come as easy as breathing after this long. In between, he declines invitations to private
rooms. He wouldn’t usually turn them down, but he doesn’t need the money.

The notification came at 3:57 a.m., a few hours after Regulus came home from his shift last
night. He was busy building the Rivendell armory with a glass of wine in hand when his
phone buzzed near his elbow.

James F. Potter sent you £5,000.00 & £500.00 is available now.

He read the message several times, waiting. Sure enough, James’ text came through shortly
after the wire notification.

James
Taking off in a sec, but don’t think I forgot.

Regulus
What’s it for?

James
The rest of your parting gift.
Buy yourself something nice while I’m in Singapore.
Te veo al rato :)

In the stillness of his flat, Regulus had simply laughed once he realized what the £5,000 was
for.

After James left him a mess in the private room, he’d slumped back on the plush couch with
the heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes. He waited until he saw stars in his vision
before getting to his feet. It was a miracle no one noticed him running along the back wall to
the dressing rooms, careful to keep the slip in place. His mind was so full of cotton, still
sluggish after his orgasm, that he forgot all about the money James technically owed him for
the thirty minutes they spent alone.

It seemed James, however, had not forgotten at all.

Regulus had to translate the last message from James. And for the thousandth time since
meeting the man, Regulus cursed him seven ways to Sunday. I’ll see you later—after telling
him to buy himself something nice? Nice what, exactly? Shoes? A watch? A day at the spa?
An outrageously expensive bottle of wine? Or something in red, made of fine silk and lace?

He told himself it wasn’t that deep even as his brain ran itself ragged trying to parse out a
possible hidden meaning. It bothered him until the sun came up to bathe his kitchen in a soft
orange glow. Only then did he quit fiddling with the Legos and, eyelids drooping, drag
himself into the living room to curl up on the sofa and fall asleep.

With a fresh £5,000 sitting in his bank account, Regulus is pickier than ever. He doesn’t even
need to be here; he just didn’t have the energy to call out of work. But once he’s done for the
night, he slips out of the club with a quick wave goodbye to Barty to Evan.

In the days that follow his last shift, Regulus finds himself slipping into a simple routine:
study, sex, and sleep, though not necessarily in this order. With his final semester looming,
he’s determined to get ahead in his coursework. He always inevitably falls behind when his
inability to sleep normal hours fucks him over.

So he studies on and off, sleeps enough to get through the day, and has sex with Connor that
isn’t half bad at all. The only issue with the last one is Regulus—who, to put it rather bluntly,
is incredibly fucking distracted.

Connor is enthusiastic about rimming, which would usually be a point in his favor, but
Regulus hardly pays attention to the eager tongue and fingers working him open. He rests his
elbows on the back of the sofa, knees spread on the cushions, head hanging between his
shoulders. Connor has a vice grip on the back of his thighs, thumbs pressed to the underside
of his ass to hold him open.

All in all it’s…fine. Regulus knows when he should moan and how much he should put into
it. It’s practiced, and Connor doesn’t suspect he’s checked out.

These last few days, it’s become increasingly difficult to focus. When he isn’t studying or
sleeping, he’s thinking of James. Including during moments like this, when he really
shouldn’t be thinking about someone who isn’t the man he invited into his flat. He’s taken to
burying his face in his pillows when Connor fucks him, and tries not to think about what it
would be like if it was James instead.

But the thought is in his head now. It has been since Friday’s private dance, and the curiosity
grows stronger every day. I’m not sharing you anymore bounces around in his skull like an
errant ping pong ball. Even now, when Connor eases into him with a hand on his hip and
another between his shoulder blades, he wonders if James would hold onto him hard enough
to bruise. If James would talk him through even this, voice low and sultry in his ear.
It’s started to irritate him that Connor isn’t really serving his purpose anymore. Considering
Regulus can’t stop thinking about James no matter what position they try or where they try it,
the whole affair feels increasingly moot. He really should send the poor guy home and delete
his number.

It’s simply easier for Regulus to pretend he still has a good grip on the cliff’s edge rather than
accept the truth: he’s already lost his hold, and he’s in the middle of a freefall.

James has only been in Singapore for half a week, but Regulus reaches for his phone often.
Even when Connor is around, he can’t resist the urge to check it. Mostly, they text. James is
in and out of too many meetings and panels and lunches and dinners to manage consistent or
long phone calls.

Which is fine, since Regulus shouldn’t even be sitting on his balcony at two in the morning.
His phone is pressed to his ear, there’s a steaming mug of tea in his hands, and laughter
bubbles out of him when James imitates another ancient board member who’s pissed him off.

“I swear,” he says, flustered, “there’s so much hair growing out of their ears they might as
well start braiding it. Maybe then I could tug on it to make them say something intelligent.
Like Woody from Toy Story.”

Regulus giggles, blowing at the steam rising off his tea. He sits in the dark in joggers and one
of Barty’s old jumpers. His feet are cold where he has them propped up on the balcony
railing, and the patio seat is a bit uncomfortable. None of it bothers him. “Why don’t you just
tell them to fuck off?” he asks. “Don’t you own the company?”

“While I admire your spirit, it’s unfortunately not that easy. Plus, this whole weeklong
nightmare is meant to be a collaborative effort between my company and other companies
working on similar projects. I have to play nice, or I risk undoing all of my dad’s hard work.”

“Playing nice isn’t any fun.”

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Regulus smirks behind the rim of his mug. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Has Carson been taking care of you?” asks James, as smooth as if he’s merely asking about
the weather. Voices echo in the background. He stepped away from the panel for a moment,
but their time, as usual, is limited.

Regulus doesn’t bother to correct the name. “He’s doing a pretty decent job of it, yeah.”

Why do you care why do you care why do you—

James breathes a long, drawn out sigh. It’s a tense moment before he replies. “Sorry, love, but
I’ve gotta get back in there. We’ll talk soon?”

“Yeah.” Regulus doesn’t know why his heart and stomach sink a little at the dismissal.

“Go inside. I don’t want that cute little nose to freeze off while I’m gone.”
“It’s not nearly cold enough for that.”

“Humor me. Bye, Reg.”

“Bye, James,” he whispers, but the connection has already ended.

Regulus sits in silence while he finishes his tea. The time creeps closer to three a.m., and his
nose has become incredibly cold and stiff, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to go back
inside. Connor is passed out in his bed. He sleeps with all of his limbs every which way. Just
like last night, when Regulus nudges him over to climb back in, he’ll hiss about the cold
clinging to Regulus’ skin. But once he’s more awake, he’ll take it upon himself to warm
Regulus back up.

Regulus isn’t in the mood.

This is how it’s been almost every night since James left. Outside of his prep studies for this
semester, Regulus doesn’t have a single thing besides Connor to distract him from thoughts
of James. And now he doesn’t even have that, because he thinks of James when Connor
makes him come. He’s nearly bitten the tip of his tongue clean off a few times to keep James’
name tucked in his throat.

The entire thing is confusing and frustrating as hell.

“Reg, just dump the poor guy,” Pandora says on Thursday when she and Lily come over in
the afternoon. They’re here to help him study for a few hours. “This is like Benjy all over
again but worse. You’re letting this one sleep over. A lot. He’s going to think there’s more to
it.”

“I doubt it,” mutters Regulus. He’s lying on his stomach on the floor, cheek pillowed by his
forearms. His textbook lies open in front of him, but it’s untouched. Once he mentioned
Pandora and Lily have to leave by five so he can shower before Connor comes over, they lost
interest in studying.

“So what exactly have you been doing?” asks Lily from her spot on the sofa. Pandora sits at
her feet, study materials spread out on Regulus’ coffee table. “Fucking Connor, waiting until
he’s passed out, then talking to James all night?”

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Pretty much.”

“And James is just…fine with this? The other guy, too?”

“James doesn’t seem to care. Connor doesn’t know.”

Pandora sips orange juice through a straw, white-blonde brows bunched together. “Doesn’t it
bother you that James doesn’t care?”

“No.”

In response, he’s leveled by two pointed looks that plainly say: you’re full of shit.
“Okay, yes. I care that he doesn’t care,” Regulus snaps. He pushes up on his elbows,
cognizant of his phone left facedown beside his textbook. It’s been a few hours since his last
text from James, and it’s nearly ten p.m. in Singapore. Is he sleeping? At dinner? Or maybe
he’s decided to give Regulus a taste of his own medicine and is busy fucking someone else
just to scratch an itch.

The thought makes his blood heat to a boil.

Lily sighs a bit too dramatically. “If you care that he doesn’t care, then maybe you should tell
him you care and find out why he doesn’t care?”

“If I took a shot for every time you just said ‘care,’ I wouldn’t give a shit about anything right
now.” Regulus pushes himself into a sitting position and rests his chin on his fist. The girls
watch him expectantly. “I just don’t want to involve him in my mess. You know? He doesn’t
need to know about all of…that.”

“And what’s ‘that,’ exactly?” asks Pandora. “The bit about your insane Big Brother family, or
the part that came after you left them when you kinda went off the rails?”

“See? You’re proving my point.”

“Are you sure it’s that and not something else?” Lily prods, one ginger brow arched. “Like,
for example, your crippling need to hurt someone before they hurt you even if they never
intended to hurt you at all?”

Regulus scowls at her. “You’ve been insufferable ever since you started your practicals. Save
the therapy for your patients.”

“Why would I do that when I can make a perfectly good case out of you?” Her smile is razor
sharp, but not unkind. She knows he’s deflecting—because he knows she’s right. “You could
do what most people do and give it a shot. You gave it a shot with Barty and Evan, but your
world didn’t come crashing down when it didn’t work out.”

“That’s different. That was an accident.”

Pandora snorts a laugh. “Sure, if falling into bed with not one but two men at the same time
can be considered an accident.”

Regulus lobs his pen at her, but she ducks out of the way just in time. “It was! It’s not the
same. We didn’t go on dates or anything. It just…happened. And we were already friends so
it was easy to go back to that. James is different. He tried to take me to fucking Italy.”

“Still think you should’ve went,” Lily remarks, reaching to grab Regulus’ pen. It’s stuck
upright between the sofa cushions. “If Pandora offered to take me on a date to Italy, I would
go.”

“Do you want me to?” asks Pandora, tilting her head to look up at her girlfriend. “We can go,
if you want. I can’t do the whole private jet thing, but the Eurostar is—”

“Not in my living room, please and thank you.”

Both girls glower, but Pandora returns to the issue at hand. “I still think you should dump—
what’s his name again? Colin?”

“Connor.”

“Oh. Close enough.” Pandora tongues the inside of her cheek in an attempt to hide her grin at
Regulus’ irritated huff. “Look, James seems to really like you. At the very least, he’s
extremely interested. He gets you off on the phone, at work… He’s texting you. Calling you
in the middle of the night despite his schedule. He’s tolerating your bullshit with this Connor
guy. He might actually be a good thing for you, Reggie.”

“I am notoriously great at ruining good things.”

“Has anyone ever told you that your attitude is abysmal?” asks Lily, chewing on the end of
Regulus’ pen.

“Yes,” he replies. “You do. All of the time.”

Lily simply smiles and goes back to her textbook, and the conversation is, at least for the rest
of the day, no longer on the table.

After the girls leave, Regulus puts music on at a decibel high enough to bother his neighbors.
The quiet feels too loud after the girls’ presence in his flat. Not to mention his phone, which
has been silent all afternoon. James hasn’t read his last text, though this doesn’t mean
anything.

It’s after six p.m. in London, so two a.m. in Singapore. James is probably sleeping. He might
keep weird hours like Regulus, but he’s been so busy… Does he even have time to bring
someone back to his hotel room? Or would he make time, like the way he’s created small
pockets in his day to talk to Regulus?

“Quit fucking worrying about it,” he mumbles under his breath, forehead pressed against cool
tile while steam swirls around him. “You’re about to sleep with someone else. Why can’t
he?”

The words echo unanswered off his bathroom walls.

His night starts much the same as it has the last few. Connor appears on his doorstep with
Chinese takeaway and a bright smile. Says, Hi, baby, you smell nice, and leans down to kiss
him. He doesn’t feel anything when it happens, even though he expects his stomach to swoop
or his heart to trip. It should, shouldn’t it? If it did, then Connor and James would be the same
—because a hi, baby from James turns him warm and syrupy, like treacle.

“Wanna watch a film?” asks Connor, setting the takeaway on Regulus’ kitchen counter. He’s
in jeans, a black jumper, and trainers. Casual. “I saw a preview for one the other day. Looked
brilliant.”

“Sure.”

Connor glances up with a frown. “Or we can do something else if you’re not up for a film.”
“We just spend a lot of time in my flat,” Regulus says, careful to keep his tone neutral. He
leans on the kitchen island, rolling the bar through his tongue anxiously around in his mouth.
“How many films can we ‘watch’—” He adds air quotes with a bite; it’s not as if they’ve
fully finished a film a single time this week, “—before you’re bored of them?”

“After a long day at work, it’s nice to come here and relax.” Connor opens various cabinets to
grab plates and glasses. Finds silverware in the drawer by the sink. Something about the
familiarity of it irks Regulus. It hasn’t even been two weeks—how is this man so comfortable
in his space?

Because you keep allowing him in it. It’s a nagging voice laced with judgment.

“I like spending time with you,” continues Connor. “Is that so wrong?”

“You like fucking me. They’re not the same thing.” Regulus reaches for one of the takeaway
containers. He’s not really hungry, but he’ll munch on sticky rice to have something to do.
The weight of his silent phone in the pocket of his joggers is only adding insult to injury.

Connor, for all of his perfect hair and skin and teeth, looks a bit rumpled at Regulus’ biting
tone. “You keep inviting me to your flat. We cuddle on the couch. You don’t exactly stop me?
If you don’t want to have sex, that’s fine. Just say that. No need to be a dick about it because
I want to and you allow it.”

“Fine.” Regulus searches through his fridge for something, anything to take the edge off.
There’s tequila in the freezer, but he knows better than to drink it when he’s this wound up.
Eventually, he grabs a bottle of wine and sets it on the counter.

“White wine and Chinese food?” asks Connor, a little surprised.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

Connor frowns, then shakes his head. “No, no. Get me a glass. I’ll drink.”

They end up watching a little more than two hours of a three and a half hour movie. Regulus
picks at a plate of rice and orange chicken, but he eventually sets it aside. He doesn’t have an
appetite. The wine probably isn’t helping, but it’s at least undone the knot in his gut.

“DiCaprio is fucking great in this,” remarks Connor, stretching out with his ankles crossed on
the coffee table. He reaches for Regulus, who lets himself be pulled on top of a firm chest. In
truth, he hasn’t really been watching. The wine has made him just tipsy enough that his focus
comes and goes. “Do you think he’ll win an Oscar for it?”

“Maybe. Dunno.”

“Would be cool if he did. Poor man never wins Oscars.”

Regulus replies with a noncommittal hum. Connor smells of Armani. Acqua Di Giò, to be
specific. Regulus recognizes it; he used to have a client who wore so much it hung around
him like a cloud. He was a man in his forties and nice enough. He paid well, tipped better.
It’s been ages since he last came to the club. Months, perhaps. Regulus is so lost in his
thoughts about what might’ve happened to the man that he doesn’t notice Connor kissing a
trail down his throat. He pulls at the neckline of Regulus’ shirt, murmuring sweet nothings
against his skin.

James probably kissed someone in this exact spot before he went to sleep, the nagging voice
in his head muses when he considers pulling away. He didn’t deny he has men and women in
other countries. Isn’t that what all the rich guys do? He probably has plenty to choose from
who aren’t you.

Connor slips a hand under the hem of Regulus’ joggers to squeeze his ass.

He’s not special to you, and you’re not special to him. Why do you care so much what he’s
doing?

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” asks Connor, shifting under Regulus so they’re better
aligned from chest to hip. Regulus straddles him, one hand on the back of the sofa for
balance. “Or we can do it here. I’m not partial.”

“I’m not either.” James hasn’t talked to you all day. He’s not making time for you. He
probably spent his evening with someone else. Why would he call or text? “But the movie is a
little…”

“Oh, shit. Yeah. You’re right.”

Quit thinking so much and let this one have you. At least he’s familiar. You know it’ll feel
good.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, desperately hoping the thoughts will quiet if he focuses on
something else for a little while. Someone else, who is tall and broad-shouldered and
handsome. His hands aren’t quite right—not big enough, not gentle but still firm, not
calloused in the right places—and his voice has started to grate at Regulus’ nerves, but he’ll
do.

They start on the sofa and finish in the bedroom. The combination of sex and wine manages
to lull Regulus into a light, dreamless sleep when they’re done. He’s tired enough he doesn’t
even mind the heavy arm thrown over his waist. It doesn’t have the right shape, but in the
soft space between awake and asleep, he can almost believe it’s James’ weight on him.

He doesn’t know what time it is when it happens, but at some point, his eyes fly open.

“Fuck,” he breathes quietly. No matter what time it is, he’s not going back to sleep. He lies on
his back, the sheets a mess around him, and pillows an arm under his head. Connor is clearly
dead to the world; he doesn’t even stir when Regulus shifts underneath him.

So Regulus lies there, motionless, and stares unseeing at the ceiling.

After what feels like ages, he gives up on trying to fall back asleep. He manages to extricate
himself from a tangle of long limbs, and Connor mumbles incoherently before rolling over to
the opposite side of the bed. His arms and legs starfish now that Regulus doesn’t occupy any
significant amount of space.

Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and eyes burning from exhaustion.
He craves sleep. More than anything in the world, he wants a good night’s rest. He took this
week off for the sole purpose of fixing his fucked up sleeping patterns. He’ll still work nights
during the semester, but at least he can pretend he has some semblance of control over his
circadian rhythm.

Sex with Connor helped for a little while. It exhausted his limbs, cleared his head, and he
managed some sleep, at least. He isn’t sure how many hours he rested, but he knows it still
wasn’t nearly enough.

On his nightstand, the clock reads 3:36 a.m. He’s familiar enough with the time difference by
now; it’s 11:36 a.m. on Friday in Singapore. Did James text him back while he was sleeping?
Or did he read Regulus’ message and opt not to reply at all? It’s not as if he owes Regulus
anything.

The potential for cavernous silence makes his skin crawl. Though he would never admit it out
loud, he misses James in a way he hadn’t expected to. Looks forward to his texts, his calls,
his funny anecdotes about his trip.

Exhaling softly, Regulus flicks a torn condom wrapper off of the back of his phone. He gets
to his feet to pad softly to his closet and grab a clean pair of briefs, then slips out of the room.
He shuts the door behind him with a gentle click, careful not to let it slam. He doesn’t want
silence, or to be alone, but he doesn’t want Connor in his space, either.

He snatches a throw blanket off the back of his sofa on the way to the kitchen. His phone is
on Do Not Disturb, the screen dim and notifications hidden. He fights the urge to check if
there are unread messages. Instead, he sets his phone face down on the dining table next to
the nearly finished Lego set.

He’ll make tea. Drink a glass of water. Find a snack. When he’s exhausted his options for
procrastination, he’ll check his phone—but not a minute before. No use fretting over it.

But it takes less time than he anticipated to make tea, drink water, and wash grapes in a small
bowl. He sits at the table with an irritated huff, blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders
and one knee drawn up to his chest. His chin rests on it while he fiddles with the instruction
booklet. He’s nearly finished with this set; a few more days and he’ll be able to stick it in the
guest bedroom with the rest.

Regulus waits for his tea to steep and cool to a temperature he can drink. He puts together a
few more pieces, humming a song under his breath. He munches on a handful of grapes,
shifts his position—dutifully ignores the existence of his phone.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, reaching for it after an unknown amount of time. “Get a
damn grip.”
The screen reads 4:13 a.m. It’s lunchtime for James. But here in London, the sun will come
up in an hour or so, and in the liminal space that exists between dusk and dawn, he’s brave
enough to check his messages even though he’d rather not. His heart flips at the sight of
James’ name high at the top of his unread list.

James
Today is packed, but call me when you wake up.
Don’t worry about the time. I’ll answer.

He sent it at 10:42 p.m. London time, which means it arrived when Regulus was struggling
not to moan James’ name. Something terrifyingly akin to guilt gnaws at his insides, but it
isn’t for the man asleep in his bed.

Before Regulus can think twice, he hits the call button.

James picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, baby. One sec. Don’t hang up.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. There it is, that warmth behind his sternum he isn’t meant to feel. He pulls
his other knee to his chest and shoves his face between his legs, stifling a groan. He keeps his
phone pressed to his ear; James is talking to someone else. He catches I’ll be right back and
sure, sure, let them know the one o’clock meeting can be pushed to two and I’ll just take a
salad with grilled chicken, thanks.

“Sorry about that,” James says into the phone a moment later. He’s a little breathless, but his
voice is smooth and low. Clear. Incredibly warm. It drips over Regulus. Finds all of his cold
places and settles, makes a home.

“Are you at lunch?” he asks, careful to speak quietly. He really doesn’t want to wake Connor
now. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“I am, but it’s alright. It’s a little luncheon thing. Another meeting. Bloody waste of my time,
but I can’t get out of them.” In the background, the sound of cars whizzing by grows a little
louder. “What time is it there?”

“Four in the morning.”

James hums. “Can’t sleep again?”

“No.”

“Is Caleb there?”

“Are you ever going to call him by his actual name?”

James’ laugh is warm if not a little teasing. “No. Do you have any idea how many male
names start with the letter C? More than I can use in a week, that’s for sure. He’ll be gone
before I run out of options.”

“Your confidence is astounding. Don’t you remember what I said about knocking your ego
down a peg?”

“I’ll never forget it. You’re stunning when you’re spitting fire, especially when it’s at me.”
There’s a smile in James’ voice. Regulus wishes he could see it. “If it’s four in the morning,
that means you’re working on the Rivendell set. Almost finished?”

“Yeah.” Regulus lifts his head to scan the remaining pieces. “Might finish it tomorrow,
actually.”

“Are you going to start a new one?”

“Probably. I was supposed to fix my sleeping schedule this week, but it seems like that’s
fucked no matter what I do.” He can’t keep the frustration out of his voice. He drops one foot
to the floor and rests his chin on his knee. “Talk to me. Please? I don’t care what it’s about.
Just…talk.”

James is quiet for a moment. The sound of cars driving by has dimmed considerably, as if
he’s walked around the side of a building or stepped slightly away from the road. “Why?”

Because Regulus isn’t an idiot. Not a complete one, anyway. Over the last few days, he’s
come to reluctantly accept he sleeps best on the nights he talks to James. Whatever sleeping
drug is laced into their conversations seems to work even better than sex. It’s a terrifying
thought, but right now, he’s too tired to care.

He just wants rest.

“I’m an insomniac, too,” James offers after Regulus’ prolonged silence. “Haven’t been
sleeping well the last few days. It’s usually triggered by stress for me, and I’ve been really
fucking stressed since I landed. Yesterday was probably the worst of it, though.”

“Oh?”

“Investors. They skipped sticks and went straight for whole tree trunks up their asses.”

Regulus laughs under his breath. “That bad?”

“Miserable. Awful. I knew I was going to get bent over a few times this week, but I expected
them to at least use a little lube before they fucked me.” James exhales a long breath. “It’s
been one grueling meeting after another. I had to call my dad for advice on how to handle this
guy who wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”

“You do sound a little tense.”

“I just wish you were here with me.”

Regulus inhales sharply. He stills his absentminded fiddling with the tiny pieces in front of
him. “Why?”

“Singapore is beautiful. It’d be nice to leave these stupid meetings and see some of it with
you.”

“Isn’t there someone you can call?” he asks, careful to skirt around the question he really
wants an answer to.

“Yes, there is,” James replies. Regulus’ heart plummets until he adds, “I’m talking to him
right now. But he’s eight hours behind me and he has a life of his own, so…”

Oh.

“Singapore is probably a bit much since you didn’t even want to go to Italy, but I would
really like to take you on more dates.”

“You haven’t asked…”

James snorts. “You’ve been too busy fucking Carlos. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Connor,” he corrects, but his heart isn’t in it—and neither is the irritation.

“Baby, I don’t care what his name is. Actually, do you want the honest truth?”

Regulus swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Yes.”

“The truth is I fucking hate him. I hate that he’s in your flat. I hate that he’s in your bed.
Knowing he’s in it right now while you sit there unable to sleep will put me in an early grave.
He should be—Fuck, I’m twenty-eight going on eighty at this point.” James laughs, but it’s
humorless. “I know you’re not mine. You can do whatever you want. Fuck whoever you
want. But I’m only a man, and my self-control is barely hanging on.”

“You always act like you don’t care.”

“Yeah, well. That was before I spent last night alone in a hotel room for the sixth night in a
row, and all I could think about was the way you look when you come, and how someone
who isn’t me is getting to see it.”

There’s a slight ringing in his ear, a fuzziness in his brain. Lightheaded—that’s what he is.
Because James says it all so casually but with an earnestness that renders Regulus speechless.

He holds the phone between his ear and shoulder, gathers his tea and blanket, and slips out
onto the balcony. Cold air bites at his exposed legs. He hadn’t expected to end up here, but he
doesn’t want to go back in his room for clothes. There’s a small patio set made up of two
chairs and a tiny table.

The line is silent except for the distant sound of cars; James is waiting for him. He curls
himself into one of the small plastic chairs, blanket wrapped tight around his frame, and puts
his phone on speaker. He rests his cheek on his knee. Gnaws at his bottom lip, a knot in his
chest. “Why haven’t you given up?” he finally asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sleeping with someone else. You know I’m sleeping with someone else. Most men
would just…give up. So why won’t you?”

“Do you want me to give up?”

Regulus’ heart sinks like a stone. He shakes his head vehemently before remembering James
can’t see him. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t want you to give up. But I’m being a bit of a dick
about this. You have to agree with that.”

“I think you’re not used to letting people in. Especially men who are genuinely interested in
you.”

His silence is answer enough.

“Do you expect me to say you’re too difficult? That you’re not worth the trouble?”

“Most do.” Regulus closes his eyes. His nose, fingers, and toes are already stiff with cold.
“Or they just want sex, and once they get it, they leave.”

James makes an indignant noise. “And yet you’ve had the same man in your bed for over a
week now.”

“He still just wants to fuck me. We had that one little coffee date, but it lasted five seconds
before we came back to my flat. I don’t think we’ve had a meaningful conversation since we
met. He doesn’t really know anything about me.”

“Then he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

There it is again—that warmth like treacle, dripping all over. Regulus buries his face between
his knees to hide his blush even though there’s no one around to witness it.

“Does he ever help you with the Rivendell set?” asks James.

“What? No. He probably thinks it’s weird I’m twenty-three and still building Legos on my
kitchen table.”

“If that’s true, then in my completely unbiased and not at all skewed opinion, he doesn’t
deserve you. Not your time and definitely not your bed.”

Regulus snorts sardonically. “And you do?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then I don’t understand.” Regulus raises his head to watch the sun peak slowly over the
horizon. It’s almost five in the morning. Connor will wake up soon, and this conversation
with James will have to end. If it does before Regulus can get all of the words he wants to say
out, he may never be able to say them at all. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you, Regulus.”

“But—”

James cuts him off. “Benjy and Connor and other guys like them? They get the version of
you that you feel safe showing them. You show it to me, too. It’s the version in control of this
entire situation. The one that’s accounted for every variable and possible pitfall.”

“So? What version do you want if not that one?”

“The real one,” James replies simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I want
the Regulus who’s not trying to stay six moves ahead of me like we’re playing a game of
high stakes chess. I don’t want to sleep with you while you’re still trying to figure out if I’m
pulling some elaborate stunt. I’m a pretty simple guy, Reg. I promise I’m not thinking that
complexly about it.”

Regulus buries his face between his knees again. “Then what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about you, and what sort of dates we can go on when I’m back in London. We
can go anywhere you want. Do whatever you want. All of it is fine with me. It’ll be like the
night we went to dinner, but better. We can make a whole day out of it. I’ll clear my
schedule.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Besides, if I have to sit through one more fucking meeting when I could be with
you instead, I might lose my mind.”

Regulus grins into his knee, stifling a laugh. “Okay. Yeah, we can do that.”

“But I have a request,” says James, and though his voice is warm, it’s also firm. “I meant it
when I said I’m not sharing you anymore once I’m back. No more Benjys. No more Connors.
It was fine before I saw how you—Damn it, I can’t think about it. Not here. I’ll be hard as a
fucking rock, and I’ve gotta go back in for this stupid lunch in a second.”

The laugh in Regulus’ throat dies when the sliding glass door to his balcony suddenly opens.
Warm air from his flat floods the space. With it comes Connor, who sticks his head out,
squinting against the rising sun. He’s naked except for a pair of briefs. At the sight of him,
Regulus’ irritation spikes. He snatches his phone from the table, turns off the speaker, and
presses it back to his ear.

Connor clears his throat. “Hey, babe. I thought I heard voices. You on the phone?”

“Is that him?” asks James, all of his warmth turning to ice.

Conveniently, a yes works for both questions.

“Oh, got it. Woke up and you were gone,” Connor says. “Missed you, baby. You should’ve
woken me up. Are you out here talking to a friend?”

“Este hijo de la gran puta,” James seethes in Regulus’ ear. “Babe? Baby? ¿Quién te crees qué
eres?”

To Connor, Regulus replies, “Yes,” which earns him a haughty scoff in his ear.

“Gotcha. I have to leave in a little bit, but when you’re done—” Connor drops his voice low,
but in the still morning air, it’s not nearly quiet enough, “—come back to bed with me.”

James makes an affronted noise. “‘Regresa a la cama’?! Aja si claro, ah, chingado—”

“Actually,” Regulus says, ignoring James’ rant while it devolves into incomprehensible
Spanish, “I have a lot of studying to do today. I probably won’t go back to bed.”

Connor’s gentle smile slips a fraction. “Babe, it’s five in the morning… And I didn’t mean
let’s go back to sleep.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Then do you have to study now?”

“Vete a la verga,” snaps James, a little louder than before. “He said no, ¿si? Pinche pendejo
este. No chingues te voy a madrear hasta—”

Regulus pulls the phone away from his ear. The problem isn’t the heat in James’ voice, but
rather the way it’s starting to turn Regulus on. He bites the inside of his cheeks to keep his
smile hidden. Shifts away from the door, because he’ll be damned if Connor thinks he’s the
reason Regulus’ cock just twitched and his cheeks are burning.

“Babe?”

“Sorry, yeah, do you mind just…heading home?” asks Regulus, a little exasperated. “I’ll
probably be on the phone for a minute. My friend is going through something right now.”

“Damn straight I am,” says James lowly.

Connor blinks a few times, then nods. “Yeah, sure. Call me later?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Will you give me a kiss goodbye before I go?”

“Agh, chingado,” James moans, drawing out the last vowel. “This is torture. No mames, no
mam—”

“Morning breath,” Regulus says to Connor with a slight shrug, and James bursts out
laughing. “I’ll call you later.”
Connor’s brows pull together. He gives Regulus a tight-lipped smile, but sensing the final
dismissal, shuts the sliding glass door and disappears. James is still laughing when Regulus
hisses, “Quit cursing his entire bloodline or whatever the hell it is you’re saying. He’s back
inside. He’s gone.”

“Fucking finally.”

“You know, you’re not acting like a very calm, cool, and collected CEO right now.”

James makes a strangled noise. “All night, love. Every fucking night and all fucking night, I
laid in bed thinking about another man inside you. I—Agh, me lleva la chingada, baby. I
think I left ‘calm and collected’ behind when you came on my thigh. I haven’t been right
since.”

Regulus runs his tongue over his lower lip, grinning like mad. “It’s kinda turning me on,” he
admits, shifting again. He hears a door slam shut inside his flat. “You should do this whole
English and Spanish thing more often. It’s hot.”

“Don’t tell me that. I have to go back to this lunch meeting, and I can’t think about you
turned on. Not with fucking Carl in your flat.”

“Connor.” The correction only serves to launch James into another unintelligible rant.
Holding back a laugh, Regulus leans over the arm of his chair to check inside the kitchen. It’s
dark. He can’t make out any movement. “I think he’s gone,” he says, interrupting James. “I
heard a door shut a second ago.”

“Then try to get some rest. I really do have to go, anyway. Can you do that for me? Get a
little sleep?”

“I can do plenty for you if you ask nicely enough.”

James coughs, sputtering, “Aye, puta madre, I can’t do a lunch meeting like this,” and
Regulus laughs a little too loud in the early morning light.

“Go back to your lunch, James,” he says, grabbing his tea from the table. It’s gone tepid, but
that’s alright. He might be able to get some sleep now. “Call me tonight when you’re back in
your hotel room.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Wait, before I go—what is it you said that one time? Piensa…?”

“Piensa en mí,” whispers James, an off center quality to his voice.

“Yes. That’s it. And that is what I’m gonna do while I take a long, hot shower.”

James chuckles softly. “I might make a Spanish speaker out of you yet.”

“Only the dirty bits. Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Enjoy your shower, love.”

“Oh, I will.”

Before James can reply, Regulus ends the call.

He leaves his phone on the kitchen counter while he washes out his mug. He catches a small
smile blooming on his lips a few times, but he doesn’t bother to hide it. A warmth has settled
in his chest despite the chill. His nose is still stiff, and his left ear aches from the cold.

None of it matters, though. He’s too caught up in I want you, Regulus and the real one. In we
can go anywhere you want and he doesn’t know what he’s missing.

It’s possible this is the worst idea he’s had in a long, long time, but he’ll try it. For at least a
little while, he’ll see how it goes. If it all crashes down around him, he’ll do what he’s always
done: get a little drunk, then pick himself up, download an app or two, and move the fuck on.
Get under someone else and get over James Potter. It’ll be his contingency plan—just in case.

But for now? He can’t deny he’s curious, nor can he deny he feels different around James
compared to other men. If he wants to understand the difference, he has to at least try.
Pandora and Lily were right, not that he would ever admit it to them.

Teeth chattering and a chill in his bones, he heads for his bathroom. He turns the shower
nozzle all the way to the hottest setting and strips, shivering. He hadn’t realized how cold the
air out on the balcony was, but it’s catching up to him now.

“If I catch a fucking cold…” he grumbles, toeing his briefs off the floor to toss them in the
laundry bin.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror—rosy-cheeked, a little flushed along his chest. His
eyes are slate gray, outlined by long, coal-black lashes. He rolls his bottom lip between his
teeth. Is James’ lunch going well? He sounded stressed before the conversation veered wildly
off course. There was so much exhaustion coloring his voice.

Still chewing on his bottom lip, Regulus reaches for his phone. Opens the camera. The room
has warmed considerably now that steam collects in the air. It’s risky considering James
might be in the middle of something important, but he can’t stop thinking about the off kilter
way James had repeated piensa en mí.

Regulus leans one hand on the counter, careful to maneuver his body so the dip in his waist
draws the eye right to his belly button, to the piercing dangling from it. It’s a silver many-
pointed star with an emerald jewel inlaid in the center. It’s obvious he’s naked from the waist
down, but he makes sure not to expose it; the counter’s edge covers him. He wants this to be
as much of a tease as James’ selfie had been.

He twists his face into a sultry pout, pleased when steam begins to cloud the mirror’s edges.
It blurs his bathroom and puts him in focus. Honestly, it’s the best picture he’s taken in ages.
It’s effortless. His hair curls delicately around his ears, his jaw. The ring in his nostril catches
the light. All of his best bits are on display.
Well. Most of them, anyway.

He’s relieved Connor didn’t litter his neck with bite marks, even though some terribly sadistic
part of him wants to know how James would react to them now. He can hear the low rant in
his ear, all the indecipherable Spanish lost on him but still thrilling.

Regulus doesn’t need to comprehend the language to understand James had finally snapped.
Whatever the trigger was, Regulus won’t lie—it felt good to hear proof that James is not as
wholly unaffected as he appeared to be. That he did care, even if he fought like hell to keep it
hidden.

Before Regulus can second guess himself, he sends the selfie to James. He doesn’t bother
with a caption or message; the picture says plenty.

And the reply is immediate.

James
If you’re trying to reach James Potter, I have bad news…
He’s no longer breathing.
Might even be dead.

Regulus
Really? Bummer.
I wanted to ask if he’s free tonight…

James
As a ghost, if you’re into that.

Regulus
I am if Ghost James can still make me come.
I might go shopping today.
Someone told me to buy myself something nice…
Does Ghost James have a color preference?

James
MEETING. LUNCH MEETING.
I AM IN!
A!!
MEETING!!!!!

Regulus
:)

James
Damn it. I see the tables have turned.
Regulus gives the message a thumbs up, sets his phone face down on the counter, and steps
under the hot shower spray. His muscles loosen immediately, skin warming to match the heat
in his chest. He doesn’t spend too long under the water; he’s tired, and if he’s lucky, he might
manage a little more sleep.

At the same moment he steps out to towel himself dry, his phone lights up on the counter.

James
Red.
Whatever you buy, PLEASE get it in red.

The sun has risen over the horizon by the time Regulus draws his blackout curtains closed
and falls into bed. He likes James’ message before turning his phone back on Do Not Disturb.
Then, with a slight huff, he throws the pillow Connor used to the floor. He’ll have to wash his
bedding when he wakes up, but for now, he’s content to replay his conversation with James
over and over until his eyelids start to droop.

Just before he falls asleep, he catches himself smiling—unbridled from ear to ear.
 lipstick smudged like modern art
Chapter Notes

they're becoming so agora hills 🫢

When he gets home on Friday night, Regulus tells Connor their brief fling—if it can even be
called that—is finished. He spent the afternoon shopping with Dorcas and Pandora who, over
steaming cups of cider, told him to get his shit together and drop Connor before he royally
fucked it up with James.

Telling Connor he’s no longer interested earns him the reaction he expects, which is a rant
peppered with insults. In a good mood and still a little fuzzy from the brandy Pandora poured
in his cider, Regulus allots Connor one use of the word “slut” and half of a “whore” before he
ends the call.

Later, when Regulus informs James that Connor is no longer a problem, James asks, “Did he
say anything to you when you told him?”

Regulus grabs a mug for his tea. It’s still early in Singapore, not even six a.m., but James still
picked up by the third ring. Groggy, voice thick and rough with sleep, he mumbled, Morning,
baby, and Regulus thought he might actually collapse. “I mean, he said stuff,” he hedges now.

“Anything I would happily beat his ass for?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard from other men. Slut, whore, whatever. But I’m f—”

“He said what? Pinche pende—”

“James.”

He stops mid-sentence and exhales slowly. “Sorry, love. But I still hate him.”

Regulus smirks at his phone. “I know. But it’s fine. He’s gone. When are you back in
London?”

“Early Monday morning around six. Why?”

He sits at the kitchen table with his tea, knee pulled in to his chest and phone set beside him.
Even though less than twenty-four hours have passed since he sat here and listened to I want
you, Regulus, it feels like it’s been days. He wants James back in London.

He wants James here.

“Monday is my first day of classes,” Regulus explains, chin on his knee and the little Lego
booklet spread out in front of him. He’s not sure what he’ll build next, so he doesn’t have
plans to finish this set tonight. But it’s something to do with his hands while he chats with
James.

“Do you have work?”

“No, not during the week. I’ll only work Friday and Saturday nights from now until term
ends.”

James makes a noncommittal noise, and Regulus can’t help but smile. Feigning nonchalance,
he adds, “I’ll have a busy week, but my evenings are free after four…”

“Are they now?”

“Mhm. And I usually take the tube to get to campus, so I’m not opposed to someone picking
me up. If he wants, of course.”

“Oh, he wants. Very, very much.” He can hear the smile growing in James’ voice. “But I
can’t do Monday since I have some debriefing stuff I can’t miss. Tuesday to Thursday,
though? I’m yours.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“What about Friday? Saturday?”

“Ah, about that…” James’ tone dips into solemnity. “I have to be honest with you, love. My
Fridays and Saturdays belong to someone else.”

Regulus stills, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t wanted to tell you about him, but I think it might be time… See, he’s gorgeous,
first of all. An absolute fucking stunner. And—”

Oh. Regulus’ cheeks warm, and he whispers, “Cut it out.”

“—he’s got these beautiful gray eyes. The prettiest black curls—”

“James.”

“He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it lights up the whole room. Can’t look away from
—”

Regulus makes a soft noise of protest. He tucks his face in the neckline of his oversized shirt,
mumbling, “Shut up. You’re embarrassing me. And you’re being cheesy.”

“Am I? Huh. I had no idea.”

“I know you’re smiling. I can hear it in your voice. You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Hilarious, actually.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and pops back out from his shirt. “Is there anything else you like about
him?”

“I thought you said I’m being cheesy,” James teases. “Now you want to hear more?”

“I’m just…curious. That’s all.”

“Bet you are. Hm… Ah. He does this thing when he’s on stage where he… Did I mention his
insane levels of flexibility? Look, I’m not proud of it, but I’ve spent many nights wondering
how to make use of the way his body bends. It’s actually my darkest secret.”

Regulus stifles a laugh in his elbow. “Now you’re being gross!”

“I’m a man.”

“So am I!” Regulus protests, even as his laugh echoes off the walls. “But I’m not thinking
filthy thoughts.”

“No? I find that very hard to believe.”

There’s a dip in James’ tone from humorous to something rich and dark. Heat flickers to life
in Regulus’ middle. He loses focus on the Lego pieces he holds, especially when James
decides to keep going.

“You know, it’s been a week and I still can’t get the sound of your moans in my ear out of my
head.”

Regulus’ throat is suddenly too dry to manage a proper swallow. He reaches for his tea. Is it
hot enough to burn his tongue? Maybe. Does he take a big gulp of it regardless? Absolutely.

“It’s been terrible for me,” James says with a worn, dramatic sigh. “I sit in these meetings
with stuffy old men who are more stubborn than you—a feat, believe me—and all I can think
about is how gorgeous you look riding my thigh.”

He’s no stranger to pretty words. Men say plenty of pretty things to him all of the time. Even
Connor liked to whisper them in his ear. But James says them with such an easy confidence
that Regulus wants to crawl under his table and hide. He’s thousands of miles and entire
countries away, but it doesn’t matter. The power James holds is immense—and terrifying.

“I bought something today,” Regulus blurts, desperate to even the playing field.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. It’s… I think you’ll like it.”

“Is it something you’ll wear for work?”

It could be, but Regulus shakes his head. “No. No, it’s something I’ll wear for you.”

The answering silence is deafening.

“James?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Sort of. Maybe. Not really. Jesus Christ.” He clears his throat with a
cough. “Can you say that last bit again? The part about you wearing it for me?”

Regulus’ triumphant grin slowly spreads. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Understatement of the fucking year.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll show it to you, though.”

There’s a brand new set laid out on the edge of his bed. It’s made with dark, cherry red fabric;
the color is stunning against his pale skin. He stared at it for a while when he came home and
removed it from its fancy box.

James is gonna lose his fucking mind. He might even have a heart attack, Dorcas had said,
grinning with her chin on his shoulder while he swiped his card. You should marry him
without a prenup before you show him. Just in case.

Pandora had vehemently agreed.

“I won’t ask,” James says airily, though Regulus can hear quiet desperation creeping in. “I’ll
let you decide when I see it.”

Heartbeat quickening, Regulus unfolds himself from his chair. He pads softly through the
living area and down the hall to his room, where the set still lies waiting on his bed. “I
thought you wanted me to give up control. Isn’t letting me decide the complete opposite of
that?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

“Well can you cut it out for five minutes and tell me what you want?”

He isn’t sure what James is doing, but he imagines him sitting at a desk in his hotel room.
James groans, a low, deep rumble, and Regulus thinks of him rubbing his hands up his face.
Pushing his glasses askew in an endearing, almost boyish way. He runs his fingers through
his curls until they’re a mess. Pulls at them a little, and…

Regulus kicks his door shut to lean against it, one hand already dipping into his joggers. He
doesn’t bother with pants when he’s at home, so the first brush of fingers along his shaft as it
hardens pulls a gasp from his lips. It’s a barely there moan, soft and teasing.

“Regulus, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”
“I have to leave for a meeting in five minutes.”

He lets his eyelids flutter shut. In his mind’s eye, he’s in James’ hotel bed, naked and
wrapped up in warm sheets. And there’s James fixing his tie while he grumbles about
meetings and board members. He’s unaware of Regulus, who toes the edge of the sheet
slowly, careful to keep it from becoming too obvious. He exposes the dip in his back, the
curve of his ass, the length of a tattooed thigh.

James finally takes notice and pauses his rambling. He watches, gaze growing hungry. Says,
Fuck it, and undoes his tie in seconds. He never does make it to his meeting.

The fantasy brings a crooked smile to Regulus’ lips. His breath hitches when he thumbs
through moisture beading at the head of his cock. “Fuck the meeting. Skip it.”

“I can’t, love. You know I can’t miss these meetings. Don’t—” James groans, sounding
positively devastated. “Don’t you dare.”

“Then tell me what you want. Please?” He doesn’t care if he sounds needy. That’s the whole
point. “I can show you the set now, or later… I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Fucking hell. You’re gonna kill me.”

“James, please,” he breathes. Pleasure zings up his spine. He’s not even stroking himself with
enough pressure to make a difference, but James’ voice—broken, a little strangled—more
than makes up for it.

“You want to know what I really want?” There’s a slight edge to his words that sends another
shiver up Regulus’ spine. “I’ll tell you, but you have to say please again.”

“Yes. Yes.” He moans low in his throat. “Please, James. I—”

“What I want is to watch you get on your knees and take my cock down your throat until you
choke on it.”

Regulus’ eyes fly open, and his phone slips through his fingers. It lands with a dull thud on
the carpet. He has to steady himself on the bookcase next to his door, fingers white-knuckled
on the edge.

From the floor, James’ delighted laugh comes through the speaker and fills the room. “Did
you drop your phone?”

“Yes! I can’t believe you just—just said that.” Regulus’ head falls back against the door. He’s
aching; the image now planted in his brain refuses to leave. Damn James. Damn him and how
easily he can unravel Regulus. He doesn’t even have to really work for it; Regulus comes
undone for him in seconds, and it isn’t fucking fair. “Christ, James. A little warning, maybe?”

“You asked. I answered. Now I have to spend two miserable hours thinking about all of the
things I could be doing. To you, specifically.”

Regulus reaches down to pick up his phone. “It’s what you deserve for that line.”
“It’s alright. I’ll get to have my cake and eat it too soon enough. Bye, love.”

“Fuck off.”

James is still laughing when Regulus ends the call.

They spend the entire weekend texting. When James has time, they talk on the phone.
Usually it’s before the start of his day and when Regulus can’t sleep. During one of these
conversations, Regulus finishes putting together all 6,167 pieces of the Rivendell set.

“You’ll have to get another,” James remarks.

To which Regulus replies, “I have no idea what I want next.”

“Do you have any you haven’t done?”

“Plenty. But I only like the ones with a lot of pieces. Anything less than one thousand only
takes me a few days to finish. Sometimes I can finish them in a few hours if they’re really
simple.”

“Think about it. I’ve gotta get back, but we’ll talk later.”

On Sunday, Regulus works up the courage to take a whole slew of pictures in the red set he
bought. For the first time in ages, he decides to get creative. He sets a scene. Makes sure
every little bit is perfect, from pose to angle to lighting. He even puts music on, something
low and sultry, to set the mood.

The set itself isn’t anything particularly special, but Regulus brings it to life. The top is skin
tight, cropped, and sheer, with a high neckline he covers with a thin, black leather collar. It
was an impulse purchase when he bought the lingerie, but when he sees it in the pictures, he
knows he made the right choice. The bottoms are similar to what he often wears for work—a
garter belt and G-string—with sheer, thigh high black stockings.

He sets his phone on a tripod, rolls around in clean sheets, and has genuine fun with the
whole affair. What would James like? he thinks, bending himself backwards over the edge of
his bed like it’s his very own boudoir photoshoot. It makes him laugh in the soft orange glow
that fills his bedroom as the sun sets.

This last photo of him laughing with his head thrown back is his favorite.

He doesn’t send any of the full pictures to James. He wants to, but he also wants James to
appreciate the work put into each one, not glance at them under a table with his brightness
dimmed. As tempting as it is to surprise him, it wouldn’t have the desired effect.
Instead, Regulus crops some of the pictures. He chooses small, tantalizing pieces from his
favorites—a bit of thigh here, a sultry smile there, the glimpse of his belly button or a pierced
nipple—and on Monday, he sends one while sitting in the back of a lecture hall. James is
supposed to have a meeting soon, but the point is to tease.

And it works like a charm.

James
Hello?!?!?!
Is there more? What is this?
Regulus?????

Regulus
:)

James
Okay that’s cruel. What is this???
Tell me I can have the rest eventually.

Regulus
Please?

James
PLEASE tell me I can have the rest eventually.

Regulus
You can have it all if you’re good.
Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?

James
Fuck the meeting. Let me see.

Regulus
Excuse you. I’m in class.
You’re distracting me from my studies.

James
You started this!!

Regulus
And I said if you’re good you can have them later.

James
Them? THEM???
As in MULTIPLES??

Regulus
Maybe :)
James
Stop it. Stop doing that.

Regulus
<1 Picture Attached>
:)

James
WHERE IS THE REST!!!!
Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me now.
Cruel. You are a CRUEL CRUEL man.
No wait. You’re a brat.
Am I being punished? Did I do something?
Baby your read receipts are on.
So you just enjoy watching me suffer.
REGULUS!!

Regulus
<1 Picture Attached>

James
Hooooooooly shit.
This is actually a form of torture.

Regulus gives the message a thumbs up before he puts his phone on silent and sticks it in his
messenger bag. He has to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He might be in the
back of the lecture hall, but this lecturer’s eyes are keen as a hawk’s.

That night, James doesn’t bother with niceties when he calls. He tells Regulus to get on all
fours in the middle of his bed, then talks him through one of the best orgasms he’s ever had.
It leaves him a messy puddle in tangled sheets, still shuddering from aftershocks.

“How do you feel?” asks James.

Regulus struggles to swallow. His throat is practically made of sawdust. “Good,” he croaks.
“Really fucking good.”

“Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Mm,” he hums, eyelids already drooping. He should get up and shower, but his limbs feel
like deadweights holding him to the mattress. “Might fall asleep right here.”

James chuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, love. Get some sleep. You were so good for me.”
Regulus shivers, moaning softly into his pillow. “Wanna be good one more time. Gimme a
minute. I can… One more.”

“You’re too tired,” James says gently. “You’re already falling asleep.”

“S’Okay. I can…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. He barely hears James’ quiet laugh, or the
way he says, Goodnight, baby, before he’s pulled under.

Regulus wakes a few hours later. He rolls out of bed, stumbles into the shower, and despite
being half asleep, manages to scrub the dried sweat from his skin. Still groggy, he strips the
messy sheets, wraps himself in the duvet he’d pushed to the floor, and curls up in a cocoon on
his bare mattress.

His phone reads 4:14 a.m., and there are a few missed texts from James.

James
I’ll be there when your class finishes.
But don’t rush. Take your time.
Dress casual! Nothing fancy this time.

Regulus spends Tuesday with a ball of anxiety in his stomach. It twists, tightening each time
he thinks of James waiting for him after his last class. He has no idea what to expect. James
promised to surprise him with something fun, but he’s still terrified James won’t even show
up. It’s a voice of negativity that never leaves him alone.

At 3:52 p.m., his lecturer waves a dismissive hand. “You’re all free to go. Nothing more from
me today, but I’ll see you on Thursday. Don’t forget to do the online introduction
assignment!”

It’s a flurry of movement, of sliding chairs and laptops slamming shut. Regulus rushes out the
door before anyone else. He heads for the bathroom to freshen up, heart in his throat and
stomach practically doing somersaults.

He picked out a slightly oversized jumper this morning. Considering James’ apparent
fondness for all things red, he decided on one that’s deep maroon. He tucked the front in his
jeans. Untucked. Tucked again. Grumbled about how it doesn’t matter, you look great and
shouldn’t be this worked up, but still found himself agonizing over the details. The only bits
that didn’t require extensive fiddling were his Docs, thick-soled and familiar on his feet.

The midafternoon sun is still bright when he makes his way outside. People from class mill
about, chatting in groups. Some of them wave to him, and he shoots a small smile their way.
James texted him to say he’s here, which only worsened the knots in his stomach.

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. It’s not like this is their first date.
But it feels different. After their conversations this last week and all of the late nights, he’s
mid-freefall and nowhere near the bottom. What scares him most is not knowing what the
bottom even looks like. It could be any number of things. The possibilities are endless.
There’s no stopping his mind once it’s started trying to account for every—

“Regulus!”

He inhales sharply, pivoting on his heel to find an Aston Martin parked on the curb. In the
sun, it’s a deep merlot color. James leans against the side, one arm raised to get Regulus’
attention. But James’ ostentatious car, garnering curious looks from students passing in front
of the lecture building, isn’t the worst of it.

No, the worst of it is James, who Regulus realizes he’s never seen outside of a suit. Fine
button ups and pressed trousers and shiny Oxfords—these are what he’s become familiar
with.

But this James is an entirely different breed. This James wears dark, slim-fitting jeans and a
black jumper, neither of which should be allowed to look as good as they do. This James opts
for worn, high top red Converse, and there are rings on almost all of his fingers.

“Hi, baby,” James says when Regulus is within earshot. His grin puts the midafternoon sun to
shame, and his cheeks push at his glasses, eyes crinkled in the corners.

Regulus stands a few paces away. His jaw snaps shut with an audible click. “What is this?”
he manages, taking in James’ relaxed posture, his wicked grin. “Who are you?”

“This is my second skin. It’s less ‘obnoxious CEO’ and more ‘obnoxious guy who drives a
sports car.’”

“At least you’re self-aware about the obnoxious bit.”

“Well, my Tuesday car is in the shop.”

“I’m sorry, your Tuesday car?”

James nods, grin stretching impossibly wider. “I didn’t tell you? I only drive the Lamborghini
on Tuesdays. The Aston is a Thursday car.”

“What do you drive on Wednesdays?”

“A Bentley. Duh.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Regulus’ eyes narrow. “If you really have a different car for every day of the week, I will
never sleep with you. You can have sex with your cars instead, you fucking weirdo.”
James laughs with his head thrown back. It puts the strong column of his throat on display.
Despite his threat, Regulus wants nothing more than to latch his mouth to it. He shifts on his
feet, glaring. James’ eyes sparkle when he says, “I only have one car, and it’s this one. Come
on. Get in.”

“You promise it’s only the one?” Regulus steps up to the curb and next to James. His skin
itches when James opens the door with a flourish. He doesn’t dare look up to see if his
classmates are watching this entire exchange.

“I promise. I don’t spend all of my money on cars.”

“Then what do you spend it on?”

“A very stubborn stripper.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue, unconcerned that it’s childish. He slides into the passenger seat
and dumps his messenger bag on the floor. “I’m not stubborn.”

“‘I’m not stubborn,’ he says stubbornly,” James mimics, shutting the door.

The inside of James’ car smells so much like him. Regulus almost sinks down into his seat
with a quiet, pleased smile. He hadn’t realized how familiar this smell is to him—it’s warm,
with notes of sandalwood and a subtle spice. Underneath it is a hint of what he thinks might
be inherently James. This smell is softer, more natural. It’s fresh linen, a citrusy shampoo.

James slides into his seat and presses the push to start. Latin music fills the car before he
rushes to turn the dial. He turns to give Regulus a full once-over. It’s deliberately slow, taking
in every detail. “You look good.” He smirks when he works his way back up to undoubtedly
find Regulus flushed. “Very good. Stunning, actually.”

“You’re being cheesy again. Cut it out,” Regulus says under his breath, shifting in his seat.
He shoves his hands under his thighs to keep from doing anything stupid. He’s thought about
kissing James so many times that the desire is turning quickly from want to need. “Where are
we going?”

“Leicester Square for some shopping, then Covent Garden for dinner. I made reservations for
six-thirty so we have a little bit of time.”

“I get Covent Garden, but what’s in Leicester Square?”

The sunshine grin returns, and James simply replies, “A Lego store.”

“I can’t believe you’re using a black card to play for fucking Legos.”

James shrugs and holds the card’s chip near the reader. “I get good points.”
“Bullshit.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to impress you.” James shoots him a crooked grin. “Is it working?”

Much to Regulus’ irritation—yes, it is.

He thought James was joking when he said their date included a trip to the Leicester Square
Lego store. It seemed ridiculous. But James was adamant. You finished the Rivendell one, he
pointed out when Regulus continued to protest. If you want, you can consider it a selfish
maneuver on my part. You won’t stay up late to talk to me if you don’t have a Lego set to work
on.

“Let me get you a bigger bag,” the store clerk says after passing James his receipt. “One
moment, please.”

James shoves the card and receipt in his wallet before stuffing it back in his pocket. He leans
an elbow on the counter, cheek resting on his fist, and looks down at Regulus. “Is almost ten
thousand pieces enough for you?”

Regulus lifts his chin. “It’ll do.”

“Brilliant.”

The store clerk returns, sets the box in a giant yellow bag, and hoists it over the counter to
pass it into James’ waiting hand.

“I don’t even know where I’m going to put this thing,” Regulus mutters under his breath,
following James through the crowded store. “What if it’s bigger than my dining table?”

“Then I’ll buy you a new dining table.”

“You’re insufferable.”

But even as he says it, Regulus reaches out to slide his fingers into James’ outstretched hand.

It was strange at first, holding hands in such a public space. Regulus isn’t used to it. He
doesn’t let men hold his hand. Not because he’s ashamed of who he is, but because it feels
too…close. It feels like a beacon, like telling the world this one’s mine. It’s not something
he’s ever wanted to say out loud about anyone.

Until James Potter, apparently.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it. But now that he’s held James’ hand properly, he
doesn’t want to let it go. He doesn’t hesitate when James holds his hand out, palm upturned.
He interlaces their fingers, heart fluttering when James uses it to tug him closer.

The London crowd is thick with people returning home. They stop for hot cider, and James
sets the giant yellow bag on the ground between his feet. Once they have their drinks, he
holds out his elbow for Regulus to hook his arm around. He resists the urge to bury his face
in James’ bicep; instead, he pulls his lips between his teeth to dampen his grin.
“We have enough time to bring this back to the car before dinner,” James says, holding the
bag up for emphasis. “Do you want to drive or walk to Covent Garden? It’s really close, but I
don’t mind—”

“Walk,” Regulus answers immediately. He’ll mourn the loss of James so close to him if they
drive there. It’s better like this, with his arm looped through James’ and their steps in sync. “I
don’t mind the walk. It’s only about ten minutes. Parking will be a pain.”

James’ answer is to kiss the crown of his head and mumble, “Okie dokie. Then we’ll walk.”

This time, Regulus buries his face in the soft fabric of James’ jumper and lets himself smile
fully.

“Did you have a good time?” James asks as he turns onto Regulus’ street. “I know we didn’t
do much, but—”

“It was perfect.” Regulus’ head lolls to the side against the seat. It’s heated, and combined
with a full belly, James’ warm hand on his thigh, and several drinks, Regulus is a little
drowsy.

They ate Mexican food, though James told him nowhere in the world—except maybe a
restaurant in Mexico—could beat his mother’s cooking. Euphemia, he’d said, scooping a
corn chip into guacamole. But you can call her Effie.

James ordered half the menu despite Regulus’ protests they wouldn’t be able to eat it all. But
apparently he’d underestimated James’ capacity to store food away; every plate was cleared
by the time the waiter came to take it back to the kitchens.

“Try something with mezcal,” James told him when he scanned the drink menu. “It’s got a
wicked kick that’s worse than tequila, but they make good drinks here. You’ll like it.”

Regulus coughed like a teenager drinking liquor for the first time when he tried his cocktail.
It was made with the restaurant’s signature mezcal, fresh lime juice, and agave nectar. There
was even chili on the rim. “Holy fuck,” Regulus said between coughs. “What is this?!”

“Good, no?”

“Strong.”

James’ grinned behind the chili-coated rim of his own glass. “Strong, but good.”

In the end, Regulus drank two of the mezcal cocktails, and James bought a 700ml bottle to
bring home to his dad. The man practically came out of the womb drinking this stuff, he’d
said, shaking his head fondly.
After their cocktails and full from their dinner, they were both tipsy. They held hands the
whole way back to James’ car, laughing a little too loud. Strangers shot them scowls, but for
the first time in a long time, Regulus just did not fucking care about anything.

It makes the inevitable end of their date feel like the worst thing in the world.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks as James pulls the car up to the curb and cuts the
engine.

“It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Not including our first date, of course. But this
one felt…”

“Different?” Regulus offers quietly.

“Yeah. Not bad different. Just…” James squints down the dimly lit street. A muscle feathers
in his jaw before he speaks. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you. About what I would
do if you gave me a chance.” He runs his finger over the steering wheel, expression
inscrutable. “I don’t know why, but I drove home that night with the nagging feeling I’d
fucked it all up somehow.”

Regulus frowns. “Fucked what up?”

“I really don’t know. You were just so guarded. It makes sense at the club because that’s your
job, but I didn’t expect you to still be that way off the clock.” James pales slightly. “Which is
fine! Really, it is. I didn’t expect anything. I still don’t. And maybe I shouldn’t have started
with a trip to Italy, but… I genuinely did just want to impress you.”

“Today was more impressive. I like the obnoxious guy with a sports car. He’s kinda sexy.”

“It’s the Converse,” James replies simply, knocking his feet together under the dash. “Always
gets ‘em.”

Regulus can’t help but roll his eyes. Silence settles between them, broken only by soft music
still playing. He fiddles with his keys, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. More than
anything, he wants to invite James inside his flat. After everything, is it presumptuous to
assume James wants him as badly as he wants James?

He decides to start small.

“Do you want to walk me to my door?” he asks, eyes still on the keys in his hand.

“Sure. One sec. Don’t move.”

Regulus stays in his seat while James gets out to walk around the car and open his door.
“You’re really committing to this gentleman thing, aren’t you?”

“My dad raised me a very specific way,” James says, grabbing the Lego bag from the
backseat. “He said, ‘You never let her open a door you can open for her.’”

“Her?”
“Let’s just say he was a little surprised the first time I brought a guy home. But he’s fine with
it. Ma is too. They’re traditional, but they’re also not. I got lucky. Come on.”

There it is again—the outstretched hand, fingers wiggling. Regulus doesn’t hesitate to take it.

The walkway to his front door feels shorter than usual. By the time he climbs the short steps,
his legs have turned to jelly. James stands a few steps behind him at the base of the stairs. He
passes the Lego bag to Regulus, who sets it down gently. There are only two insignificant
steps separating them, but it might as well be a chasm.

“I guess this is goodnight, then.” James smiles in a soft, demure sort of way. He nods to the
Lego bag. “How long do you think it’ll take you to put together almost ten thousand pieces?”

“It’s complex, so maybe a month. It’ll depend on how many sleepless nights I have. And if I
have to buy a new dining table to fit the damn thing.”

James chuckles, and silence settles again.

Regulus is going to lose his mind. He can feel it. He continues to wind the metal ring holding
his keys around his index finger. There’s a new weight in the air, like the afternoon was one
long, run-on sentence, and they’ve finally reached the period at the end.

He thinks the period should shift to a comma. That it should be followed by kiss me, please,
because it’s all I’ve thought about for such a long time. But he doesn’t know how to ask for
it.

No, he doesn’t think he should. Because wouldn’t that be a little desperate? Even though he
hasn’t stopped thinking about it for days, weeks, an entire month, if he counts the first time
he laid eyes on James under multicolored lights. Besides, is it so wrong to want a kiss from
the man who, just last night, coaxed him to add another finger, baby and it’ll be fine, I know
you can take it and—

“Regulus.”

He blinks, startled. “What?”

“Where did you go? You’re spiraling.”

“What? No, I’m not. I’m—”

“You are.” James takes a step up onto the first stair. “What are you thinking about?”

Regulus swallows and takes a half step back. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just—”

Another step. James is a little taller than him now. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his
mouth. He arches one brow but says nothing.

“It was really nice,” Regulus says in a rush. “Great, actually. A better date than I’ve been on
in years. Maybe ever. But I’m not very good at this part when we’re supposed to say
goodnight. I always feel a little awkward. I don’t know what to say or how to say it, and—”
“Have I told you yet that it’s really adorable when you start rambling on like this?”

Regulus scowls. Even with the thick soles of his Docs to give him an extra inch, he has to tilt
his head now that James stands next to him. He’s too close; the heat of his body fills the small
space in front of Regulus’ door.

“Why are you so nervous?” asks James, tilting his head with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Am I making you nervous?”

“I’m not. And no, you’re not. Don’t flatter yourself. I just told you I’m not very good at—
James?”

A gentle hand comes up to curve around the side of Regulus’ neck. There’s a thumb pressed
under his jaw to urge his chin up. Hazel eyes search his, and warm breath ghosts over his lips.

“Do you want me to do it then? I can show you how this is meant to go.” James’ thumb
caresses Regulus’ skin in absentminded strokes. “You don’t have to think about anything. Let
me take care of it.”

Regulus’ heartbeat is an erratic, messy thing behind his ribs. It’s made messier by the way
James draws him in with a gentle tug. He’s no better than a magnet to metal. And when
James inhales a steady breath, he feels the rise and fall of James’ chest against his own.

Closeclosesoclosewhatishedoingwhatis—

“I need an answer, love.”

His hands curl in the soft front of James’ jumper. Cashmere, maybe. You should ask. There’s
not a lot of space left between them, but James won’t close the gap. He watches, waiting. Is
that gold in his eyes? He waits, thumb gentle where it rubs over the sharp line of Regulus’
jaw.

“Regulus, baby, you—”

“Yes,” he finally says.

“Oh, thank God.”

Regulus knew it would be catastrophic. How could it not be when James looks like this and
laughs like that and says his name so reverently? Still, he’d hoped it would be awful. That
James would prove he really is all bark and no bite. Maybe then Regulus could’ve stopped
his own fall. Pulled the string to the parachute on his back and saved himself any more
trouble.

But no, there will be none of that.

Because James Potter kisses like a fucking dream.

Regulus melts into him the moment their lips touch. He’s only kept upright by the arms he
loops around James’ neck, the hand that cradles his skull and buries itself in his hair, and the
arm tight around his waist. Without all of this, he’d be no better than a puddle at James’ feet.

At first, it’s soft. Chaste. A little tentative. James’ lips move against his in a way that’s
decidedly reserved. It’s maddening, but James told him let me take care of it—and who is
Regulus to deny him this chance?

He seems to know what he’s doing. Their mouths slot together like they were made to.
James’ lips are plush and soft, delightfully warm, and Regulus wouldn’t mind if this was all
they did.

Except—oh. Oh, that’s James’ tongue running over his lower lip. It asks, gentle and without
expectation, but Regulus opens for him like a flower in bloom. He tastes of the chocolate
truffles they ate for dessert, of the chili on the rim of their cocktails, and Regulus will never
enjoy either of these things the same again.

He moans softly into James’ open mouth, lightheaded from the tongue rolling over his. Large
but gentle hands frame his face, slip into his hair, linger, and oh, he might be going mad. He
really, really might.

When James pulls away, Regulus chases after him. He licks at James’ lips and lets the
piercing in his tongue catch the top one. James chuckles, the sound a low rumble in his chest.
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about kissing you? Actually, no. I’ll just tell
you. A lot. All of the time. Way more than is probably healthy.”

“Then I’m really confused about why you stopped? Seems suspicious…” Regulus bridges the
narrow space between them to take James’ bottom lip between his teeth. He tugs, grinning
when James swears in a low tone.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he says even as Regulus kisses him fully.

Regulus groans loud enough for his neighbors to hear when James’ hands slide under the
hem of his jumper, fingertips slipping under the waistband of his jeans. It presses them
together, flush from chest to knee. Regulus tugs, pulls James with him so he’s caged between
his front door and this human furnace of a man.

“Come inside,” he manages between heated, open-mouthed kisses. “I want you to—”

James stills, smiling crookedly against Regulus’ lips, and with this, Regulus knows he’s lost.
Once more, the scale tips in James’ favor. “No,” he says, kissing the tip of Regulus’ nose, his
forehead, his cheek. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?” Regulus doesn’t care that it’s playing dirty. He drops his hand between them to
cup the growing bulge in James’ jeans. It earns him a sharp intake of breath. “We’re just
kissing, but you’re already like this.”

“If you could see what I see, you’d understand.”

Regulus squeezes, and James lets out a pained groan. “What do you do when I make you
hard like this at the club? What did you do the night you got me off over the phone? I know
you were turned on. Last night, too.”

James drops his forehead to Regulus’ shoulder. His hips stutter forward, seeking relief.
“When it happens at the club, I break every traffic law possible to get home and in the
shower.” He kisses Regulus’ neck, laughing softly. “And the night you got off over the
phone? I came twice. Made an absolute fucking mess of myself once and just…kept on
going. It drove me insane, and I loved it.”

“Then don’t leave. Stay.” Regulus arches into James’ body. He can’t get any closer, not
unless he finds a way to crawl under James’ skin, but he can damn well try. “Come inside.
Please, James. Do all those things you promised you’d do to me.”

“Oh, no. No, don’t do that. Don’t—” James’ hands flex at his waist. “I can’t—”

Regulus shivers despite the heat. He turns to nuzzle into James’ hair. Runs his tongue over
the shell of James’ ear to nibble on the lobe and whispers, “Come inside. You can fuck me for
hours just like you promised.”

“No, baby, I—Damn it,” James mumbles into his neck, voice dropping impossibly lower.
Despite his words, his arms collect Regulus to pull him closer.

“James, ” he coaxes, saccharine desperation dripping from every word, “quit fighting it and
come inside.”

It’s as though someone pulled James too tight for too long. A withered noise escapes his
throat, almost wounded, and Regulus is suddenly no longer on the ground. His legs wrap
around James’ waist on instinct, the door hard against his back, and their lips come together
in kisses too filthy for somewhere so open.

But Regulus doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t care about a damn thing, because James is
falling to pieces. Despite the grip he has on Regulus’ ass, or the way he licks hungrily into
Regulus’ mouth, the low words he whispers are indication enough that his foundational
restraint is disintegrating.

“Regulus, baby, fuck, you taste so good pero no puedo, no—” James moans when Regulus
sucks on his tongue. It breaks him a little more. “Te deseo tanto que no puedo pensar, amor.
Espera—Fuck, you feel so—”

Regulus is so damn giddy with it—at least until it all comes to a screeching, terrible halt.

Someone nearby clears their throat with an obvious cough. James pulls away with a start, and
Regulus bangs his head on the door. He lets loose a litany of irritated curses as pain
reverberates through his skull. In a rush, the sounds of his generally quiet neighborhood
puncture their bubble. The moment shatters completely.

Chests heaving, they turn to find Regulus’ neighbor—a bitter old man with a misshapen bald
spot—standing on his own front steps. His dog, a small and terribly obnoxious breed, barks
once. Regulus flinches; the high-pitched sound is painful in the quiet evening air.
“Good evening,” Regulus’ neighbor deadpans, his expression pinched.

“Evening, Mr. Bailey.” Regulus has never hated his neighbor more than he does in this
moment.

“Hello there,” James manages, his smile a little lopsided. He’s flushed, lips slick with spit,
and his glasses are askew. His eyes are still glossed over with lust. “Lovely weather this
evening, innit? Taking the little guy for a walk?”

Mr. Bailey’s scowl deepens. “The forecast said there will be rain. And my ‘little guy’ is a
she.”

“Oh. Got it. My apologies.”

Whatever slow unraveling Regulus managed to do is ruined. James will put himself back
together in a fraction of the time it took Regulus to take him apart. “James,” he hisses, “put
me back on the ground.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” James gently sets Regulus on his feet. He adjusts his glasses and
rubs sheepishly at his neck. To Mr. Bailey, he says, “Sorry ‘bout that, mate. Got a little…
carried away.”

Regulus’ neighbor scoffs. He says nothing before he marches down his front steps and
walkway. He takes a sharp left to head down the street in the direction of a nearby park.

“Well,” James says once Mr. Bailey is out of earshot. “He’s a delight.”

“He’s got one foot in the grave but won’t go fast enough.”

James sputters a laugh. “He can’t be that bad.”

“He complains about every little thing I do. And every noise complaint I have is because of
him.”

“Exactly how many do you have?”

“Plenty.” Regulus crosses his arms over his chest. “I take it you’re not coming inside now?”

“No, love,” James says with a quiet grin. “I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because I really am trying to be a gentleman and take this a little slow.”

Regulus groans, slumping back against his front door. “I don’t want you to be a gentleman. I
want to be too sore to sit down in class tomorrow.”

James’ brows fly up to his hairline. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Scared you can’t perform?”

“I know what you’re doing. Taunting me won’t work.”

“Begging almost did.”

James reaches out to gently flick the tip of his nose. “That’s because you’re very pretty when
you beg.”

With a scowl, Regulus bats James’ hand away. Hopefully his front light is too dim to give
away the blush on his cheeks.

“Before I go, I have something I want to ask you.” James stuffs his hands in the front pockets
of his jeans and scuffs his shoe on the concrete. “You can say no, of course. But I still want to
offer.”

“Go on.”

James takes a deep, steadying breath, then says, “Come to Milan with me.”

“I—What?” Regulus sputters. “Is this another one of your crazy date ideas? Are we jumping
from Lego stores and cantinas to Italy again?”

James laughs and shakes his head. “No. It’s for a charity auction I have to attend. I can bring
a plus one. And since I’ll spend the entire time thinking about you anyway, you might as well
come with me. If you want,” he adds in a rush. “It’s a three day trip. We’ll leave Friday and
be back in London by Sunday evening.”

Regulus leans against his front door, arms crossed and jaw set. He expects to feel frustration.
It’s what he felt that first night when James wanted to take him to Italy. And here they are
again; only this time, it’s backwards.

“You really don’t have to say yes,” James says, shoulders slightly hunched forward. “I want
you to come. I really, really do. But only if you want to go.”

“Why?” Regulus blurts, fiddling with the fabric of his jumper. “Why do you want me to go?
I’m not—I don’t have—There’s nothing special about…”

James tilts his head, frowning slightly. “I don’t agree with any of what you were just trying to
say. Me? I want to show you off.”

“Oh, is that all I am? A piece of arm candy?”

“Of course not,” James replies with a scoff. “That’s what I am.”

This pulls a bewildered laugh from Regulus, who shakes his head and mumbles,
“Insufferable.”

“Come with me, love,” James says earnestly. “Let me show you off. We’ll do the stupid
auction on Friday night and spend Saturday doing whatever you want to do. We’ll have the
day all to ourselves.”
Regulus licks over his bottom lip, pleased when James zeroes in on it, pupils dilating a
fraction. “Will we be in separate rooms?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Separate beds?”

“Not a chance.”

“Fine.” Regulus exhales with a dramatic, put upon roll of his eyes. “Then I guess I’ll go to
Milan with you.”

James steps into his space, frames his face with strong hands, and kisses him again. They’re
both smiling, which means too much teeth, but James doesn’t seem to mind. Regulus sure
doesn’t. It isn’t until his tongue slips into James’ mouth that James steps back, shaking his
head. “No. Not tonight. Just—Can you wait until Milan?”

“When is it?”

“Next weekend.”

“Fine,” Regulus acquiesces with a huff. “Can you wait until Milan?”

“Probably. Maybe. I think so.” James takes a step back and down a stair. “But not if I keep
looking at you. So I’m—I’m gonna go. Much as it pains me to do this, I’m gonna turn around
and walk right back to my car.”

Regulus grabs the Lego bag, spinning his keyring around on his index finger. “Will I see you
between now and next weekend?”

“Of course.”

“Good. You’re not turning around, by the way.”

James chuckles, says, “No, I guess I’m not.” He walks backwards down the walkway, his
eyes still on Regulus. “I’m just getting a good look at you because you look fantastic.”

“I’d look even better on my knees.”

“Oh, come on. That’s cruel!” James throws his hands up in defeat. “Alright, I can’t stay here.
Self-control is not my strength. Goodnight, Regulus.”

“Goodnight, James.” He laughs when James finally turns around to walk quickly to his car.

But before he ducks inside, James looks up one last time. “Dream of me?”

“You should be so lucky.” Regulus unlocks his front door and leans into it so it opens behind
him. “How about you dream of me?”
James sets his chin on his hand where it curves around the top of his door. He watches while
Regulus slowly slips into his flat. “Who said I don’t already dream of you?”

“Do you? Then what is it you dream about?”

“I guess you’ll find out in Milan.”

Regulus allows himself one last look at James before he lets his door shut.

With a soft squeak, he presses two fingers to his lips, leans his back against the wall, and
slips down to the floor. He wraps an arm around his knees, staring wide-eyed into the dim of
his flat. He can still feel the press of James’ lips on his. Can taste their kiss on his tongue.

Milan.

Oh, it could be a disaster. An absolute fucking mess of a time. But it should be okay. He
should be okay. It’s been a long time since he drifted in the social circles of the world’s
wealthiest; no one will recognize him. He can pretend he isn’t Regulus Arcturus Black, heir
to a fortune centuries older than he is, for a little while longer.

And if James finds out…

No. No. It’ll be fine. He wants to go to Milan. He wants to hold hands with James while they
walk the streets of Italy. He wants to fall into bed in a mess of limbs and frantic kisses, and he
wants to know what James is made of.

Regulus tucks his face between his knees and sighs, long and drawn out. It’s too loud in the
quiet of his entryway. It’s defeated, a sigh of acceptance, of inevitability. Of a freefall with
too many possible and terrible ends.

To his empty flat, Regulus whispers under his breath, “I am so, so fucked.”
 at least it’s the prada two-piece that i’m trippin’ in
Chapter Summary

milan, part one

Chapter Notes

if you know about the damagecontrol / jegulus / limo triad, then you can probably
predict what's coming... anyway, mind the new tags and i hope you enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite James’ hectic schedule, he carves out pieces of his evenings to spend time with
Regulus.

Mostly, they go out to dinner. It’s better for conversation, and Regulus likes that James
always surprises him with somewhere new. Sometimes it’s Japanese, or Italian, or Turkish.
Other times, it’s another Mexican restaurant that James touts as good enough, but still not
Ma’s cooking—you’ll see.

Regulus frets over the added you’ll see more than he’s willing to admit. It bounces around in
his skull when he’s alone, when he’s supposed to be listening in class, when he talks with his
friends.

He considers mentioning it to Barty and Evan, but decides not to in the end.

Ever since what Regulus considers to be their first real date, he’s become more secretive of
this thing between him and James. It’s a still-burgeoning flame barely borne from kindling. If
he allows too many hands to meddle, to mess, then it may die before he can nurture it into
something bigger, better, and real.

So he tells his friends we go on dates and he’s taking me to Milan, but he offers nothing more
despite their prodding questions.

On the nights they go out to dinner, the Aston Martin idles, waiting, outside of the lecture
hall. James tells him not to rush, but when Regulus is finally free, he races out of the
building, down a set of stairs, and across the grass. He slides into the Aston’s passenger seat,
grinning like a fool when James kisses him breathless.
He whines when James pulls away; it never fails to earn him a warm chuckle. “Hi, baby,”
James says softly, kissing his forehead before settling back in his seat. “How was your day?”

“Long. Boring. I might have a mild headache.”

“You hungry?”

“Famished.”

At some point during one of his many sleepless nights, Regulus started a note in his phone.
He simply titled it “J” and locked it against prying eyes. He adds to the list every so often,
careful to keep track of not only James’ likes and dislikes, but the little things he does that
make Regulus melt.

He will never in a million years show James the list, and someday he might have to delete it,
but for now, its existence brings a smile to his face.

One of the top five best things about James is that when he drives, it’s always with his left
hand tucked between Regulus’ legs. He curls his fingers under Regulus’ thigh, thumb
rubbing absently while he hums along with whatever plays through the speakers.

The only time Regulus reconsiders where this subtle touch falls in his rankings is when
James parks the Aston outside his flat, unbuckles both their seatbelts, turns, and kisses
Regulus with a hand lost in his curls.

They make out like teenagers on these nights, kisses building in intensity with each passing
minute. But no matter how many times Regulus whispers come inside, James still shakes his
head.

Milan, he says between frantic, desperate kisses, mouth working over Regulus’ jaw. It drives
him wild when James pulls away, but he’ll admit he’s started to enjoy the game now that he
understands the rules.

It’s easy to work James up, after all.

On the Friday and Saturday nights Regulus works, James comes to the club and pays for his
usual private dance. Eager to please and tease, Regulus wears James’ favorite outfits both
nights—the emerald number, and a deep purple moment.

Once they’re safe in the private room, he climbs in James’ lap. Slips his voice into something
needy and honey sweet. Rolls his body in a way he knows James likes.

After this and some gentle coaxing, it doesn’t take long before James growls at him to ride it,
love, ride me right now, and Regulus comes from nothing but the pressure and friction of a
strong thigh between his own.

They kiss languidly until Regulus settles back in his body, at which point he slips a hand
between them to press his palm over the bulge in James’ trousers. It earns him a broken moan
followed by a pained, “Don’t, love.”
“Are you punishing yourself for something?” asks Regulus, his confusion mounting. “You
never let me get you off. Why?”

“Because I want it a certain way, and it isn’t like this,” James answers through gritted teeth.
Regulus still pets at him. “I like watching you come. It’s enough for me right now.”

“And you say I’m the one with control issues.”

James buries his face in Regulus’ neck to nip at his pulse point. “I stand by it. But I never
said I don’t have a particular set of my own.”

The night before they’re meant to leave for Milan, James calls a little before midnight.

“I’m sorry, love, but I have a last minute meeting tomorrow that I can’t miss, so I won’t be
able to pick you up,” he says, his disappointment palpable. “I’ll send a driver, though. And
I’ll make sure he grabs coffee, if you want.”

Regulus, busy tearing open the ninth of forty-six packets that belong to his new Lego set,
takes a second too long to respond.

“Reg? You there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Legos.”

James’ laugh is warm. “How much have you managed to finish so far?”

“I’m not even through the first instruction booklet. It’s over two hundred bloody pages,”
Regulus mutters, organizing the new pieces. He groups like with like, then lines them up
biggest to smallest. “I’m almost done with the bridge and funnel bit, though. The bow and
well deck had me contemplating my sanity a few nights ago.”

“Oh, I remember. Vividly. You were swearing up a storm for an hour.”

“There are over three hundred steps in this first book alone!” Regulus reaches for a brown
piece smaller than his pinky nail. “They even have the swimming pools. And little beds!
There are so many of these little fucking beds, James.”

“Are you regretting this one?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Regulus clicks together four pieces, finishing only half of the two hundred
thirty-fifth step. Fucking hell. “I might complain about how intricate it is, but it’s the most
fun I’ve had with a set in a long time. It’ll take me a while, but it’ll be worth it when it’s
finished.”

There’s a beeping noise, then the whir of a coffee machine. “Will you display it in pieces or
together?”

“Seems a bit morbid to display it in pieces, don’t you think?”

“Technically it’s already in pieces somewhere.”

Regulus shakes his head. “That’s insensitive to the dead.”

“I’ll send my apologies to the middle of the Atlantic.”

Once he finishes the ninth packet, James tells him to take a break. Or rather, James tells him
to lie in bed on his stomach and, as soon as he’s comfortable, talks him through fingering
himself until sweat slicks his skin and he sobs into a pillow from overstimulation.

He’s lightheaded, trying to find his way back into his bones, when James tells him, “God,
you’re perfect. And you listen so well.”

Regulus groans and buries his face in a pillow. His cheeks are sticky with dried tears. “Quit
talking,” he mumbles. “I can’t take any more.”

“We’re done, I promise. It’s late, and the driver will be there at seven. You should get some
sleep.”

“I’m about halfway there, to be honest.”

James laughs softly, and not for the first time, Regulus wishes he could bottle the sound.
There’s something lovely about James’ laugh during these small hours. It’s always a little
quieter, like he tucks pieces of it away.

Regulus isn’t sure how big James’ flat is, but if it’s anything like Regulus’ own, then he
understands. Even now, when James is only a phone call away, laughing too loud in such a
large, empty space makes him feel a distasteful flavor of loneliness.

“Goodnight, love,” James says, a smile in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mhm. Goodnight.”

When the line goes silent, Regulus rolls onto his back. It takes an incredible amount of effort
to swing his legs over the side of his bed and get to his feet. He’s sluggish. Tired. If it wasn’t
for the drying sweat and cum on his skin, he’d crawl under his duvet and fall asleep.

In the end, he stays up later than he intended to. The scalding hot shower relaxes his muscles,
but his brain is wide awake. If he wanted to, he could call James. He’ll answer like he always
does, and Regulus can listen to that deep, smooth voice until his eyes droop.

There’s only one small setback to this plan: his thoughts are spinning a thousand miles a
minute because of James.

He’s wormed his way into Regulus’ life with all the subtlety of a jackhammer breaking apart
concrete, and yet Regulus didn’t see him coming. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he
started to miss James when James isn’t around. Or when he started looking forward to their
dates and not only the evenings when James watches him dance.

Maybe he should’ve stopped this. He didn’t have to drop Connor or ghost Benjy. He could
redownload every app on his phone and only swipe on men with dark curls, big hazel eyes,
and round glasses.
Requirements: must be filthy rich, irritatingly handsome, and (preferably) Latino.

Surely there are men out there similar enough to James Potter that Regulus could,
theoretically speaking, fuck his way to forgetting.

He just…doesn’t want to.

‘Similar enough to James Potter’ is still not his James, who wears beat-up red Converse to
expensive restaurants, buys chocolate bars with a black card, and smiles so wide his eyes
crinkle at the corners.

Sure, there are a thousand and one CEOs out there who could check enough boxes for
Regulus to feel spoiled and taken care of.

But they still wouldn’t be James.

It’s why thoughts of Milan, and all that could go wrong, keep him awake until dawn. He
would be an idiot to think James hasn’t figured out who he is, but it’s been nice to pretend
he’s just a guy who studies software engineering, uses Legos to deal with his insomnia, and
dances to pay his bills.

He’s still Regulus Black, but at least he’s the version of himself he wants to be rather than the
version he was born into.

No part of him believes James will be angry with him for hiding it, but a nasty voice reminds
him their dynamic will shift regardless. Regulus is the heir to an empire. Why wouldn’t
James want to see exactly how depthless his family’s pockets really go?

They could buy him off. Offer millions in investment. Regulus hasn’t been a part of it all
since he was eighteen, but will that matter in the end? He’s still a Black.

The thought alone makes his blood run cold.

He manages to make his way through a few more Lego packets before he calls it quits just as
the sun begins to rise.

It takes an hour to pack his small suitcase. He’s careful with his suit, a Prada piece that fits
the dress code of a black tie event. He separates it from his casual clothes—jumpers both
oversized and cropped, jeans, his favorite joggers. Before he can second guess himself, he
even tucks the red number near the bottom, stomach flipping at the sight of it.

He’s sent James a few more random cropped photos this last week. It always earns him the
same enthusiastic I’ll-die-if-you-don’t-send-the-rest response. James has even asked about it
when they’re mid make out, his thoughts derailing into you look beautiful in red and I want to
take a bite out of you every time you send a picture and where did you buy it so I can buy you
ten more and rip all of them off one by one?

Regulus tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling despite himself. He’ll make use of the
set in Milan. He has no idea what James has planned for their day of freedom, but he’ll be
damned if they don’t spend the entire evening in bed.
Because everything will be fine. It has to be.

Ten minutes before seven, a car pulls up to idle next to the curb outside his flat. It isn’t an
Aston Martin, but rather a sleek, black Bentley with limo-tinted windows. An older man
sporting a well-manicured, handlebar mustache and broad shoulders greets him with a gruff
good morning, Mr. Black and a cup of coffee.

Regulus slips into the Bentley’s backseat, teeth clicking together from the early morning
chill. He opted for a thinner jumper, loose jeans, and his usual Docs. If James keeps the
inside of his plane warmer than a commercial airline usually does, then Regulus doesn’t feel
like collapsing with heatstroke.

But it means he’s currently very fucking cold.

Thankfully, the driver, George, turns the Bentley’s heat to a comfortable temperature. He
drives in silence with music coming through the speakers at a low volume.

Despite his coffee, the forty minute drive lulls Regulus into a half-asleep, half-awake state.
He doesn’t see the passing streets of London or pay attention to the traffic. So when the car
comes to a stop and George says, “Mr. Black, we’re here,” he jolts awake with a start.

The private airstrip is busier than he expected it to be at eight a.m. George pulled the Bentley
to a stop near a plane with Potter Industries, Inc. printed on its side. The forward cabin door
is open, and a woman stands at the bottom of a staircase. She shouts words he can’t hear,
hands cupped around her mouth.

He steps out of the Bentley and stretches his arms overhead. The sun still hasn’t risen fully,
but it’s at least a little warmer here than it was at his flat. George sets his suitcase down with
a soft smile, and Regulus thanks him before stepping away from the car.

There’s another Bentley parked a short distance from where he stands. It idles, the driver’s
side facing away from him. He watches, unsure if this is James’ car or someone else.

Then he hears a familiar voice say, “Thanks, Pete. I owe you one,” and James straightens to
his full height. He taps the roof of the Bentley twice, and the driver eases it forward until
James stands alone with a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.

He barely has a chance to look up from the screen before Regulus has marched across the
distance and thrown his arms around James’ neck. He has to push up on his tiptoes to bury
his face in the familiar scent of a fresh body wash, of a citrus shampoo, of a sandalwood
smell he’s come to realize is simply James’ signature.

“Morning, love.” He loops an arm around Regulus’ waist, the other held out to keep his
coffee from spilling. “Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

“George is a good driver.”

“He’s my best, actually.” He tightens his hold around Regulus’ middle, grunting a little from
the effort it takes to hoist him off the ground. His legs wrap around James’ waist, and he has
to bury his smile in the curve of James’ shoulder. “Did you sleep?”

“Not really,” he admits reluctantly. He holds tight to James as they cross the tarmac. The knot
of anxiety that’s plagued him all morning slowly eases.

“Why? You seemed tired when I hung up.”

“I—” He doesn’t want to tell James about his racing thoughts. They’ll invite too many
questions, and they’re not in Milan yet. He can pretend for a little while longer. “I took too
hot of a shower,” he says instead. “It woke me back up.”

“Hm. I see.” James sips his coffee over Regulus’ shoulder. “You should’ve called. I was
awake for a bit.”

“I didn’t want to keep you up.”

“You do whether you realize it or not.” Before Regulus can ask what he means, James calls
out, “Morning, Frank! How’s she doing today?”

Regulus cranes his neck around to find a tall, lanky man at the top of the staircase leading
into the plane. He’s in a pilot’s uniform with his hat in hand. He waves it around overhead,
grinning. “Mornin’! She’s good. Ready to go. We’re scheduled for takeoff in twenty, so we
should get moving.”

“I can walk,” Regulus hisses when James makes no move to set him down. “You don’t have
to carry me.”

“What if I want to?”

He pulls back to look at James. It’s unfair how fantastic the early morning sun looks on his
skin. “What if you fall down the stairs?”

“I won’t.”

“Still.” He pokes at James’ chest, grumbling, but James merely kisses him quiet.

“Oi! You two!” This voice is female and unfamiliar. “Quit making out. The plane will leave
with or without you!”

James chuckles, kisses him one more time, then sets him back on the tarmac. “That would be
Alice. I promise she’s lovely.”

A long, long time has passed since Regulus last boarded a private plane. Despite this, it takes
half a second for him to realize the aura inside James’ jet is leagues different than his parents’
had been.

James leans against the frame of the cockpit’s doorway, laughing while he talks to the pilot,
Frank. He introduced himself to Regulus with a firm handshake and a warmly said, “Good
morning. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His wife, Alice, and another woman named Emmeline are the plane’s flight attendants. They
both offer Regulus a friendly welcome, and Alice tells him to make himself at home. A third
woman, Mary, introduces herself as James’ assistant. Her handshake is as firm as Frank’s, but
her smile is gentle.

“I keep him in line,” she explains.

“This is true,” James says over his shoulder. “Without her I would have no idea what day it
is.”

“Even with me you never know what fucking day it is,” Mary mutters. She shakes her head
and returns to her laptop on the table in front of her.

The plane is spacious and new. There are four single seats on either side of the middle aisle;
they face each other over small tables. Behind them, a couch lines one side of the plane with
what appears to be a mini bar across from it. There’s a door further back, but it’s closed.

It’s a familiar layout not unlike his parents’ jet, though they opted for more opulent carpets
and furnishings.

“My parents use it more than I do,” James offers, sidling up behind Regulus. He nudges his
lower back gently. “Sit, love. Get comfortable. We’re taking off soon.” He sets his coffee on
the table and pulls a MacBook from a briefcase near his feet.

“Where do they go?” Regulus slips into the empty seat across from James, careful to keep his
limbs out of the aisle. “Your parents, I mean.”

“Back and forth from Mexico. My dad bought a ranch in Guadalajara two years ago, and then
a beach house for my mum near Puerto Vallarta last summer. They still live in England to be
near me, but they both hate the winter months. And Pa says there’s too much rain.”

Alice and Emmeline walk up and down the aisle to finish last minute preparations. Instead of
the terrified rigidity of the Black family’s attendants, these women joke with one another.

Alice even volleys gentle insults at her husband, who reminds her he’s piloting the whole
damn thing. James seems amused by the lighthearted teasing. He smirks when Emmeline
scoffs at Frank’s threat.

“As if you would ever let this plane go down while your wife is in it,” she says, dipping into
a cabinet under the mini bar. There’s a small espresso machine on the counter Regulus hadn’t
noticed.

“That’s why Alice always comes with us,” Mary points out, kicking off red bottoms to set her
feet on the chair opposite her own. “Less of a chance Frank will get tired of our teasing and
put the plane on a vertical path to the ground.”

In some bizarre way, it feels like intruding on a fine-tuned dynamic. The easy conversation
and warmth reminds Regulus of Friday Film Nights with his friends.
It’s in the way Alice shoves Frank’s shoulders, giggling, that reminds him of Pandora and
Lily. It’s in Emmeline, who bends down to carefully right Mary’s Louboutins before giving
her a quick kiss. This is Evan, who always fixes without complaint the chaos Barty leaves in
his wake.

“You alright, love?” asks James, nudging his foot under the table. “You look a little spooked.
Not a fan of planes?”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just…”

Different. All of it. This isn’t the cold wealth of his childhood, where money made him better
simply because he was born with more of it. James’ team clearly respects him, and he
respects them. But none of it is borne from fear or wealth. It’s earned—mutually.

“I like it,” Regulus says. “This. Them.”

James’ lips twitch at the corners. “They’re alright.”

“Oh, you shut your mouth, Potter,” snaps Mary, who’s just pulled a sleeping mask over her
eyes. “Alright? Alright, he says?! Em, did you hear that? We’re alright.”

Regulus doesn’t hear Emmeline’s response. He’s too busy eyeing James, who sits in his seat
with the ease and unguarded openness of someone at home. He sips his coffee, eyes flicking
back and forth behind his glasses as he reads whatever he has open on his laptop screen.

When he catches Regulus watching him, he grins over the top of his coffee. “What are you
looking at, love?”

“Nothing.” Regulus looks away, cheeks hot. James has a tousled, just rolled out of bed look
to him. It’s the first time Regulus has seen him in the early morning hours instead of in the
evening. His jumper is a dark, deep burgundy. It looks incredibly soft, and it fits him too
damn well.

“Unfortunately, I have a bit of work to do,” James explains, returning to his laptop. “I
promise I’m not ignoring you because I want to. But Mary will kick my ass if this isn’t done
before we land.”

Regulus glances towards Mary, who now has headphones on and doesn’t seem to be
listening. “It’s alright. I might take a nap once we’re in the air.”

“There’ll be fresh espresso in a few minutes. Did you eat?”

“Not yet.”

James frowns. “We’ll get something when we land, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Regulus runs his hands over armrests covered in fine, tan leather. The chair exceeds basic
comfortability. There are even cupholders to keep drinks off of the table, and a button on the
side reclines the seatback. Regulus fiddles with it for a moment, though his gaze slips to
James time and time again.

He’s focused, busy reading whatever is on his laptop. His brows bunch in thought, and he
sips his coffee absently. This time, he’s too intent on his work to notice Regulus sneaking
glances.

This is new, too. James usually works when they’re on the phone, and he sometimes answers
calls when they’re together, but Regulus hasn’t seen him working. Not like this. Not in
person. Every so often he forgets that James is running a company when he isn’t spoiling
Regulus with fancy dinners and expensive Lego sets.

Regulus toes off his Docs and tucks his feet underneath him. The plane has started moving
slowly in preparation for takeoff.

“I see you’re making yourself comfortable,” James says with a slight smirk. He glances up
over the edge of his laptop screen. “I’m glad to see it.”

“You know,” Regulus replies airily, settling in his seat, “I’ve never felt more like your sugar
baby than I do right now.”

“Really? The private jet is what did it for you? Not the random deposits when I was bored
and wanted your attention?”

“Nope. Besides, you have all of my attention now. I think it’s time for you to up your game.
Where’s my private jet? Or trips to Tahiti with your fancy yacht?”

“I don’t have a yacht.”

Regulus feigns a shocked gasp. “You don’t? But I heard all of the good sugar daddies have
yachts.”

This earns him a disbelieving snort and wicked eye roll.

“What? You don’t agree? Then maybe I should go be someone else’s sugar baby.”

“Do whatever you want, love. I’m sure there are a thousand men who would kill for the
chance to spoil you rotten.”

Regulus rests his cheek on his fist. He’s teasing, pushing buttons. Hellbent on finding the soft
part of James’ underbelly. He feigns a pout, drops his voice, and decides to go for the jugular
instead. “But don’t you wanna be the one who’s good to me, daddy?”

James spews coffee everywhere. He sputters, choking on the hot liquid, then swears under his
breath. “Virgen Santisima, Regulus, déjame tomar mi café. A little warning, maybe? Christ.”

“Oops.” Regulus runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Tell me, which do you prefer—daddy
or papi? Or is it both? Should I alternate them? ‘Daddy’ today and ‘papi’ tomorrow?”
“Oh, fuck me.” James runs a hand up under his glasses. He pushes them into his hair with a
soft laugh. “Where did you hear that word? Vas a acabar conmigo.”

Regulus shifts in his chair and stretches his leg out under the table. His socked foot fits snug
between James’ strong thighs. He presses it forward, applies gentle pressure—and grins,
triumphant, when James’ cock noticeably twitches.

His voice is a low purr when he says, “You know I don’t speak Spanish. Translate for me.
Please, daddy?”

“All you need to know is that you’ll be the death of me.”

Regulus shifts his foot, running it over the growing hardness in James’ jeans. “Can’t imagine
why.”

A low groan rips itself out of James’ throat. A second later, the plane speeds down the
tarmac. James slips in his seat, pressed harder against Regulus’ foot.

“Fuck,” he breathes, nostrils flaring. He drops his head back, eyes squeezed shut. “I shouldn’t
let you—”

“You said I can do whatever I want.” Regulus’ stomach swoops when the plane lifts off the
ground. “And I’m having a lot of fun doing this.”

“Regulus,” James says lowly through gritted teeth, “if you keep this up, I’ll have to drag you
to the back of this plane.”

“Is there a bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I knew it.” Regulus keeps his tone flippant while he gives and takes pressure, smirking
when James’ hips jerk forward to chase after friction. “There are other people here, you
know. Don’t be such a slut for it, daddy.”

James’ eyes fly open and his jaw drops. His eyes are dark, a little glazed. He wraps fingers
around Regulus’ ankle, his grip iron-clad. “You’re being a brat.”

“Well spotted.”

“I need you to behave.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Regulus.”

“Daddy.” The grip on his ankle tightens, and he lets out a soft gasp. James really does look
ready to drag him somewhere private. Much as Regulus wants him to, the flight isn’t nearly
long enough. In acquiescence, he bats his lashes and says, “Fine. I’ll behave. I promise. I’ll
be so quiet you’ll forget I’m even here.”
James rolls his eyes and releases Regulus’ ankle. “Doubtful. I can hardly focus on anything
else when you’re around.”

“Oh. Well, when you say sweet things like that…”

“Baby, no.” James adjusts himself with a grimace. He’s flushed, clearly flustered. “I promise
I’ll take care of you tonight. But you’ve gotta let me work, or Mary will rip me to shreds.”

“Fine,” Regulus says again with a sigh. He pulls his knees to his chest and leans over to lift
the window shade. They’re high in the sky now. All he can see is an endless ocean of fluffy
white clouds.

They have a little more than an hour before they land. Regulus spends some of it watching
James work, but when he inevitably grows bored, he drifts to the mini bar and makes himself
and James cups of espresso. Emmeline helps him find sugar and cream.

There’s still a knot of anxiety in his stomach about the evening’s events, but despite it, he’s
comfortable here. Alice and Emmeline giggle near the back of the plane, gossiping about
something on their Instagram pages. Mary dozes across the aisle.

James grins when Regulus sets the espresso down beside his laptop. He runs a hand up the
back of Regulus’ thigh and leans over to nuzzle at his waist, mumbling a soft, “Thank you,
love. I needed this.”

Regulus isn’t sure where this comfort came from, but he settles into it. He sits with his
espresso and tries not to acknowledge the alternative—that incessant, nagging voice of
negativity in his head that sounds so much like his mother’s.

“This is better than porn.”

Three identical sets of hazel eyes reflected in a triad of mirrors shift to look at Regulus.
James, who’s busy fiddling with his cuff links, smirks. “Like what you see?”

“Probably more than I should.” Regulus tucks his smile behind the rim of his champagne
flute. “Is there anything you look bad in?”

James cocks his head, deliberating. To his delight, Regulus is gifted with three angles of the
pose—four, if you count the one he has from where he sits behind James. “Polyester. Oh, and
paisley patterns. Those are ghastly. And I can see you looking at my ass again.”

“You looked at mine for an hour.”

“Fair enough.”
They arrived in Milan a little after ten a.m. James insisted they stop for brunch—nothing
heavy, but more than the coffee they drank on the plane. Then it was back inside another
sleek, black car to where they are now.

In all honesty, Regulus should’ve expected this. James seems giddier than a kid on Christmas
morning to spoil him, and what better way than with new clothes?

There are fashionable suit brands—well-known names like Prada, Armani, and Gucci—and
then there are brands whose names are more obscure. It guarantees only the wealthiest know
them well—Brioni, Kiton, Cesare Attolini.

Regulus’ jaw had dropped when James helped him from the Bentley and out onto an uneven
cobblestone road. “You’re joking. James, this is—I brought my own suit! It’s Prada. That’s
plenty nice e—”

James gripped his chin to turn his face away from the Brioni storefront. He met James’ firm
and steady gaze with reluctance. “Will you quit arguing and let me spoil you? You deserve
it.”

He couldn’t help it—he opened his mouth to argue anyway. Like a reflex, a thing he must do,
but James’ grip tightened a fraction, cutting him off.

“Be good, love, and behave. Let me do something nice for you. Please.”

“Fine.” Even though the fight went out of him the second James told him to behave, he
couldn’t resist sticking out his tongue. It was childish, ridiculous, but James tossed his head
back with a bright laugh at the sight of it.

It’s been a long time since Regulus last experienced the true luxury of the uber wealthy. For
all the money he makes dancing, it will never compare to this level of opulence. To a
stunning boutique storefront with pristinely polished floors and not even a carpet thread out
of place. To well-trained assistants who flit about, taking measurements and offering
refreshments.

When it was Regulus on the platform in front of the three mirrors, James sat on the couch
behind him with a glass of champagne in hand. He watched with open admiration while he
drank. Offered his opinions on the cut of trousers, on the sleeve length of shirts, on a single-
breasted versus double-breasted jacket.

And when the pieces of it all came together, he unfolded himself from the couch and circled
the platform. It was with a blatantly hungry and appreciative gaze that he took in the sharp
cut of Regulus’ suit, the way his curls blended with the true-black fabric.

“You are an absolute fucking stunner,” James had said, shaking his head with a burgeoning
grin. “Though I will miss the Docs. They’re more…you.”

Regulus’ cheeks warmed from the praise. Despite the suit’s fine material and spectacular cut,
he missed the heavy, familiar weight of his Docs, too. It’s just one night, he reminded
himself, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. Everything will be fine. You’re with James. It’ll
be alright.

After a quick change, their positions switched.

Now it’s Regulus who sits on the couch drinking champagne. He almost refuses to blink
while the assistants help James try on different jackets. Every time he shrugs one off, Regulus
is rewarded with a glimpse of his back. The shirt fabric is too high quality to be see-through,
but the tattoo sprawling over James’ back is still a shadowed shape.

But as soon as he attempts to decipher it, James has another jacket in hand to try—and
Regulus is once again distracted.

“Thoughts?” asks James, rolling his shoulders to test the fit.

“It’s not bad. Could be better.”

“Oh?”

“The bowtie is terrible.” Regulus bites at the rim of his glass, contemplative. “I’d prefer a red
tie.”

James frowns, catching Regulus’ gaze in the mirror. “Baby, it’s a black tie event. I can’t—”

“Fuck it. Sure you can. You’re James Potter.”

“I’m sure the auction’s chairman will love that.”

“I mean it. Didn’t you say your company is always among the top five bidders?” Regulus
gets to his feet and wanders over to a tie display. There’s a varied assortment of colors. He
runs his fingers over a long, deep crimson silk tie. “This one,” he says over his shoulder.
“You should wear this one.”

James sighs and holds out a hand, wiggling his fingers in a give it here gesture. “I’ll wear
whatever you want me to. Even if it means I’m scolded like a child by no less than ten old
men for not following proper dress code. Wouldn’t be the first time, though.”

Out of curiosity, Regulus checks the tag before he hands it over to James. “Jesus. It’s almost
three hundred euros. Maybe—”

“Really?” gasps James, a hand over his heart. “Oh, that just might be what puts me over
budget, love. It’ll be difficult to squeeze it in with the suit that costs—” He pauses to read the
tag tucked inside the front pocket of his jacket, then deadpans, “Ah, yes. Four thousand eight
hundred euros.”

He shoots Regulus a pointed look, which Regulus returns with a deep scowl. “Don’t tease
me,” he snaps. “Not all of us spend this much money on suits.”

“It’s our first night out together.” James takes the tie from Regulus’ outstretched hand, then
fixes the buttons on his jacket. Regulus fights like hell to hold back a whine. Casual James is
his favorite, but James in a suit is a very, very close second. Especially one as finely tailored
and expensive as this; it hugs every line like a second skin.

“What difference does that make?”

“I want us to look good. Really good. Also, this is an Italian brand. We’re in Italy. It fits.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I think you just have expensive taste and don’t want to admit it.”

“Of course I have expensive taste,” James scoffs, slipping the end of his tie through a loop
with practiced ease. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Keep it up and you might have to cut me off the champagne.” Regulus shifts his weight to
one hip and crosses his arms, taking in James in his fine black suit.

“Why?”

“Because there are dressing rooms here, and I’m about five seconds from mauling you in
one.”

An amused smile plays on James’ lips. “Scandalous.”

“I’m very serious.”

“At least let me pay for the damned thing before you rip it off, yeah?” James slips out of his
jacket and passes it back to the assistant with a demure smile. “This one, please.”

“And the tie, Mr. Potter? Black bow, or…?”

“The red one will do.”

This time, Regulus doesn’t bother to hide his smile behind the champagne flute.

They have less time in their hotel room than Regulus would prefer, but he has the sneaking
suspicion James planned it this way. The moment they’re alone, he kisses Regulus deeply,
hands framing his face and tongue tasting of expensive champagne.

Regulus wraps his fingers around James’ wrists to hold them in place. He pushes up on his
tiptoes, leaning into the kiss. Moremoremore, he begs, hoping James will listen for once.
They have time, don’t they?

But just when he thinks got him, James pulls away.

“We have to leave in two hours.” He’s breathless, and there’s a slight waver in his voice. “As
much as I want to, we really don’t have time. Not for what I want to do.”
Regulus fights the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child. “Is this what kids feel like
when they almost get their hand in the cookie jar just to be told no?”

“Probably, yes,” James replies with a soft chuckle. The sound trails down Regulus’ spine and
pools in his abdomen. “But it’s not a ‘no.’ Just a ‘later.’ When we have time, and I can take
care of you.” He shifts one hand to press his thumb over the center of Regulus’ bottom lip. “I
don’t want to rush.” His eyes darken, and he watches his thumb slip into Regulus’ mouth.

“Then you promise you’ll take me apart good and slow?”

James’ breath hitches when Regulus licks at the thumb in his mouth, the metal bar in his
tongue swirling around the tip.

“You’ve made me wait such a long time,” he murmurs, teeth grazing skin when he pulls off
of James’ thumb with an obscene pop. “Promise me, daddy.”

“I promise, love.”

Regulus smiles and slips out of James’ embrace. He spins on his heel, tossing flippantly over
his shoulder, “Then I’m off to take a shower. And you are not invited.”

Their room is less a suite than it is a small flat. There’s a giant L-shaped couch in the living
area, a huge flat screen TV, a full kitchen, a ridiculously large and comfortable bed, and a full
bathroom designed with white granite.

The suite wraps around a corner of the hotel, and floor to ceiling windows give them an
incredible view of Milan. The bedroom is massive, and the bed faces one wall of windows
with the other wall along its side. They’re too high up for anyone to see inside their room,
and nothing obstructs their view.

The layout fills Regulus’ head with too many fantasies. He has to turn the shower nozzle to
its coldest setting to keep from playing one of them out in his mind’s eye.

He’s been patient thus far. He can make it through a few more boring, bureaucratic social
hours until he and James have all the alone time in the world.

This is what he tells himself over and over while he gets ready. He repeats you can do this
you can do this you can do this in the lift. James fidgets with his suit, and Regulus stands still
as stone next to him. He looks so damn good Regulus aches to touch him, but his hands are
clammy. He spins the rings on his fingers round and round. His heart won’t stop racing.

Panic has set in.

The hotel lobby is stunning. There are crystal chandeliers high above them, and the carpets
are pristine, the marble floors polished. A man at the check-in counter ducks his head politely
when they pass.

No one notices Regulus falling apart underneath his luxurious suit.

He should back out of this. He should tell James he doesn’t feel well. He should apologize for
the time, money, and effort James no doubt put into today—and tomorrow, he’s sure—
because he needs to go. Back inside and into the lift, or even better: somewhere as far away
from Milan as possible.

He overestimated how much he could handle the stress of inevitability. Someone will
recognize him. James will know. His parents might be there. What if Sirius shows up? Oh, he
hadn’t thought of that. Not that his brother has been to an event like this in years.

Then again, neither has Regulus. And yet, here he is—standing in a crisp, brand new Brioni
suit outside of an expensive hotel while James talks to the driver of their limo.

His panic grows. Overtakes him. His ribcage isn’t large enough to contain it, and soon it’s
buzzing down his fingertips, spreading to his legs and toes. He’s not in control of his body.
He’s not even in his own skin when James opens the limo door and gestures for him to step
inside.

It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

His head is fucking spinning. It’s too warm inside the limo. It’s darker here than it is outside.
Regulus closes his eyes and wills himself to breathe. Five in, five out. Five in, five out.
You’re panicking for no reason. Five in, five out. Don’t let James notice. He’ll think it’s his
fault. He’ll—

“Regulus.”

—think he did something wrong, but it’s all you. Low voices, the partition sliding shut. You
should’ve told him no. You shouldn’t have agreed to this. It’ll end so bad, and—

“Regulus.”

Warm hands suddenly cradle his face. Familiar thumbs caress his cheekbones. He opens his
eyes, blinking several times. They’re already moving through the streets of Italy, but not very
fast. There’s too much traffic.

“What’s wrong?” asks James, drawing Regulus’ attention back to him.

“Your suit,” Regulus answers nonsensically. James kneels on the floor in front of him.
“You’ll ruin it. You shouldn’t…”

“I don’t care about the suit. It’s fine. Are you alright? You’re panicking. I can see it.”

“I’m—”

Terrified. Absolutely fucking terrified, because he worked so hard to get away from these
people. To leave this life behind him. He’s done alright for himself. There were bumps along
the way, but he crawled out of this world all on his own.

If any member of his family is at the auction tonight, someone will undoubtedly try to drag
him back in. He’ll have to fight again. It’ll be a nightmare. The same one he’s dreamt for
years.

“I need a different last name,” he gasps, panic clawing at his throat when he thinks of his
brother, his parents, his cousins and uncles and aunts. Any number of people might know
him. His name will make waves. “I need a whole new name. I need—You can’t let them—”

James’ brows draw together. He still cradles Regulus’ face between his hands. He’s so gentle,
as if it’s precious to him. “I know, Regulus,” he says softly.

“No, you don’t. You don’t know—”

“Yes, I do. I know who you are.”

The words fall heavy and terrible between them. Regulus goes rigid under James’ hands.

“I’ve known for a long time, love.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you clearly didn’t want me to know.”

“Were you ever going to say anything?”

“Not until you did. Or I guess until right now.” James frowns. His usually bright eyes are
terribly sad. “Is that why you’re panicking? Because you were scared I’d find out?”

Regulus can barely swallow around the lump in his throat. “One of many reasons, yes. I just
don’t understand why you didn’t want to say something. I didn’t want you to know, yeah,
but… All the money you’ve spent. The dinners and random deposits and…”

“You deserve all of it. And it wasn’t my place to demand answers. You didn’t want to be the
Regulus Black. You wanted to be…you. Whatever shape you wanted that to be wasn’t for me
to decide.”

He doesn’t expect the relief that washes over him. James watches him with wide, earnest eyes
that search his own. He knew James wouldn’t be angry—he doesn’t seem the type—but the
admission that he knew, that he knew and it didn’t matter, is still too much.

Regulus doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t second guess or question it. He simply winds his
fingers through soft, dark curls, and kisses James so hard he feels teeth when they come
together.

James makes a soft noise of surprise, clearly startled by the sudden shift, but he melts into the
kiss regardless. His hand finds its way between Regulus and the seat to settle on his lower
back, pulling him forward. James licks hungrily into his mouth, and it takes all of his self-
control not to fist his fingers in the front of James’ suit jacket.

They should talk about it. He’s aware of this. I know who you are means James knows he lied
about Sirius. It means James knows who his parents are and what it means to be their son.
But even though all of this is true, James still kisses him like a man starved. He leans over
Regulus, a hand on the seatback for balance, and none of the ugly truth seems to make any
difference to him.

To James, Regulus isn’t the heir to a centuries old fortune. He isn’t Sirius’ obedient little
brother who rebelled too late, staining the family tree a second time. He’s simply Regulus,
who craves nothing more than for someone who sees him as he is. And somehow it was
James who managed to peel all of his layers back with care, not at all bothered by what he
found underneath.

“I need—” Regulus’ spine curves, head thrown back to give James better access to his throat.
“I need you to fuck me. Now. Here.”

“What—”

“You win, James. Just—Fuck. I will not let you out of this car until you make me come.”

He feels the slow spread of James’ grin against the hollow of his throat. “Remind me, love.
What did I win?”

“Don’t make me say it out loud. You already know.”

“Then you can get yourself off, and I’ll watch. That’s a win for me, too.”

Regulus moans when teeth sink into the tender underside of his jaw. “Don’t. Not there.
People will see.”

“Let them. What did I win?”

“I can’t say it. I—”

James pulls back to cage Regulus between his arms. Heat rolls off of him in waves. His eyes
are wild behind his glasses, lips shiny with spit and swollen. Each word is deliberate, low and
almost pained, when he asks again, “What did I win, Regulus?”

“I could sleep with every man on this stupid fucking rock of a planet, and still none of them
would replace you.” His words are barely a whisper, but they feel too loud in this confined
space. “I thought about you,” he adds, the admission falling past his lips before he can stop it.
“Whenever Connor would fuck me, I had to think of you to get off.”

James’ eyes darken, pupils exploding to the edges of his irises.

“I thought about you all of the time. I still think about you all of the time. I’ve come harder
from the sound of your voice over the phone than I have from actual sex. I’m losing my
mind, James,” he adds with a soft whine. “You said wait until Milan. We’re in Milan. But—”

Without warning, James hooks his index fingers through Regulus’ belt loops and tugs hard.
He yelps, yanked to the edge of his seat.
Before he can process what’s happened, James runs his hands over the crease of Regulus’
hips to the inside of his thighs. Fingers dig with an iron grip but push gently, urging him to
spread his knees, to give James space between his legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking the edge off.”

Oh. Oh.

Regulus’ head falls back against the seat, fingers flexing in the leather hard enough his nails
leave scratches. He exhales a shuddering breath when James nips at the hinge of his jaw, then
works quickly down his neck. A hand presses against where he strains against his trousers,
and his hips buck up of their own accord.

“Easy,” James murmurs, sitting back on his heels. He runs the tip of his finger around the
outline of Regulus’ cock from base to tip. There’s no pressure, it’s only a featherlight touch,
but Regulus moans deep in his chest. “I just know it’ll be pretty. Everything about you is.”

He scrambles for purchase on something, anything, when James undoes his belt. Pops the top
button on his trousers free. Tugs the zipper down, his grin stretching wider with every piece
exposed.

James is a man unwrapping his present with all the care of someone who doesn’t want to tear
the paper.

At least until he sees what’s underneath.

“Oh, you have got to be—” He drops his forehead against the inside of Regulus’ thigh,
muttering a string of incomprehensible Spanish that’s too fast for Regulus to make out.
Slowly, James raises his head. “This isn’t all of it, is it?”

Regulus shakes his head, and James surges forward to kiss him. It’s wild and messy, lacking
finesse. James plays with the thin elastic digging into Regulus’ skin. Runs delicate fingertips
over red lace.

It’s the G-string piece of the red set he’s teased since James came back from Singapore.
Regulus hadn’t expected for James to see it until tonight when they were in their hotel room,
but he can’t complain about this turn of events, either.

James pulls back, ignoring Regulus’ whine. It’s cut off abruptly by two fingers on his lips.

“Open for me.” James says it evenly, and Regulus does as he’s told. The man in front of him
looks hungrier than he’s ever been. Regulus’ eyelids flutter shut when James’ fingers slide
over his tongue. “Don’t talk. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before we’re there.”

“But—”

“Enough.”
Regulus isn’t sure he’s breathing. He swirls his tongue around the thick fingers in his mouth,
pleased when James makes a broken sound low in his throat.

At first, Regulus is polite about it. But the more his desire echoes through him, the filthier he
becomes. Until spit drips down the back of James’ hand, the corners of his own mouth. He’s
losing his mind with each passing second, heat coiling low between his legs.

He squirms under James’ other hand; it’s worked his trousers a little lower, exposing more
red lace. The fabric strains to hold his cock, heavy and already leaking from the tip. He
moans around James’ fingers when a calloused thumb brushes over the head where it peeks
out from elastic.

“You’re gorgeous with something in your mouth,” James murmurs, but he withdraws his
fingers anyway. Regulus licks after them, wonton and desperate. He should be ashamed of
how he begs, but he can’t muster it when he sees the dazed, wild look in James’ eyes. “I wish
I could just sit here and look at you, but I’m running out of time. And your cock really is as
pretty as I thought it’d be.”

Heat explodes through Regulus, and he melts into the seat. He couldn’t form a sentence if he
tried. Not when the sight of James kneeling between his thighs is a very real thing. Not when
James slips lower, tugging at elastic and lace to get it out of the way, to get to what he wants.

And definitely not when a soft, wet tongue licks a languid strip from the base of his cock to
the head and swirls around the tip.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he breathes, squirming under the gentle ministrations until James slips a
hand under his shirt to spread it flat over his stomach. “James, I—”

“Stay still,” is all James says before he swallows Regulus to the root.

There’s cotton between his ears. He knows nothing but the feel of James’ mouth, hot and wet
and so fucking good. His throat tightens, constricting around the head of Regulus’ cock, and
Regulus shudders at the renewed burst of fire in his veins.

He should’ve known James would be good at this. That he would know exactly how to work
Regulus until all of his words turned to nonsense. Because James is messy about it in the best
fucking ways. He’s not here to finesse a gentle orgasm out of Regulus.

He’s here to take the edge off, to make Regulus calm and pliant.

Regulus swears a litany of curses when James’ fingers circle the base of his cock to hold him.
A wicked tongue runs through the slit to collect what leaks from the head. It’s a sight filthy
enough to undo him. There’s a pull starting behind his navel. A flame burns steady in his
core, tumbling quickly into something uncontrollable.

He moans loud and obscene when James swallows him down again. “I’m not—I’m gonna—”
God, he doesn’t want to. Not when James’ mouth feels this good. He wants to do this until
James’ jaw aches.
But he can’t hold on for much longer.

“James, I—”

Fingers in his thigh, digging—a warning. James looks up from underneath his lashes, glasses
slightly askew. He slows, and the edge Regulus was quickly approaching slips out of reach.

“What the—Please, James, let me—”

Another dig into his thigh, harder this time. There will be bruises later.

“Tell me which one,” Regulus manages, breathless. His hand has found its way into James’
curls. He holds James’ head down and fucks into his throat, desperate for more.

James pulls off of him with a breathless gasp. “Either, baby. I don’t care. Just—fuck, I need to
hear you say it when you’re like this.”

“Like what, daddy?”

He waits to ask until James’ mouth is full of him. Watches dark eyes roll back, lashes
fluttering, and feels the telltale burst of triumph that he’s brought James to heel. Made him
flushed and wild-eyed, his lips swollen and red.

It’s enough to throw a hook around Regulus’ navel and tug. To toss him right over the edge
with such force that he spills down James’ throat with a hoarse, strangled cry. Each swallow
tightens around him, leaving nothing behind.

He expects James to pull away, to let him go, but his tongue flicks languidly over the head of
Regulus’ cock. It circles the tip, and even this featherlight touch is too much.

“No, it’s—James, fuck, daddy, don’t—James, I—”

“S’Alright, love,” James murmurs. His voice is wrecked, his throat ruined. He pushes up on
his knees to kiss the edge of Regulus’ mouth. “It’s killing me, but we don’t have time for
more.”

Fuck. He forgot about the auction. About the limo. About the reason they’re even here. “Oh,
my God,” he manages. His hands shake while he tucks himself back into the G-string. He’s
slick with James’ spit and would give anything to clean himself up properly. “I’m a mess. You
are a mess.”

James laughs, sitting next to Regulus with a soft groan. He brushes off his knees, but his suit
is shockingly impeccable considering what he just did. Except for the swollen, bruised look
to his lips and the slight mess of his hair, he looks…incredible.

Bastard, Regulus thinks bitterly, adjusting his trousers to pull them back over his hips. He
hisses at the brush of his own hand. “This is gonna be torture.”

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Yes. Of course I do. I feel fucking incredible.” Regulus flinches when he zips his trousers.
“But it’s a little much right after.”

James laces his fingers together behind his head, the picture of nonchalance. “We only need
to give them three hours of our time. It should be over by ten.”

“And then I can show you the rest of the red set you’re clearly obsessed with.”

A muscle feathers in James’ jaw and his nostrils flare. “Don’t, love. I’m hard as a rock right
now. I need to think of every awful thing I can to bring it down.”

“Or I could—”

“We’ve got about five minutes before we need to get out, so no. I’ll wait. It was about you
anyway.”

Regulus softens, then says abruptly, “Think about the King naked and rolling around in a
bathtub full of mayonnaise.”

Immediately, James gags, his expression contorted into one of disgust and pain. “Blegh.
Yeah, that’s bloody awful. Keep ‘em comin’, baby. I can see the event hall.”

Regulus continues to volley awful images at James until they’re both laughing. He’s still a
puddle where he sits, all of his limbs useless, but the easy way James laughs with him warms
his insides in a different way.

This warmth finds all the extra places the other fire couldn’t touch.

“Alright, enough,” James finally says between bouts of laughter. “Any more and I might
never get it up again. C’mere, love.”

He lifts his arm for Regulus to settle against his side. In a few minutes, they’ll exit the limo
and Regulus will have to face whatever waits inside. He knows he can’t hide from it forever,
especially if he wants whatever this is that’s blooming between him and James.

“It’ll be fine. You will be fine,” James whispers against the crown of his head. “If people
recognize you, ignore them. You’re with me. I won’t let anything bad happen, alright? Just
trust me.”

Regulus nods, buries his face in James’ chest, and whispers, “I trust you.”

The charity auction is filled with new money. Regulus smells it on every person in the room
the moment they step inside. He’s tucked his hand in the crook of James’ elbow, determined
to remain as close as possible. As it is, he’s not sure he can stand on his own. His legs are
made of jelly and about as useful as a baby deer’s.
“I’m never letting you give me head before an event ever again,” he mutters out of the corner
of his mouth. “I can barely walk.”

“Just wait until—Oi! Ouch.”

Regulus has managed to pinch the inside of James’ bicep even through the layers of his suit.
“Do not finish that sentence.”

“That was a foul move for someone who can’t stand on his own two feet right now.”

“James,” he warns lowly, glaring up into eyes sparkling with mirth. “Cut it out.”

“Sorry, love. I know you’re nervous.” James bends to kiss his forehead, then straightens once
they near the formal entrance. A man with a clipboard checks names off a list spanning
pages. He smiles politely to each guest he lets pass into the ballroom.

It’s been repurposed and redecorated for the auction. There’s a stage at one end with a
microphone stand, and behind it is a fancy banner to name the event. Off to the side, a string
quartet plays along with a live pianist.

There are tables set in intervals throughout the ballroom. Gorgeous, small bouquet
centerpieces sit at the center of each one, and the tablecloths are a pristine, unmarred white.
Men and women dressed in black tie finery move around the ballroom to shake hands, kiss
cheeks, and say the required pleasantries.

It’s only been five years since he left, and the faces he grew up seeing at every gala, auction,
and ridiculous party are ones he’ll never forget. But there are no Carrows, Lestranges,
Greengrasses, or Gaunts here. No Malfoys or Flints or Notts or Macmillans.

To his relief, Regulus recognizes no one.

James fields handshake after handshake. He kisses cheeks and says his hellos. “This is
Regulus,” he adds, shifting to allow Regulus room to smile, to shake hands, to kiss cheeks.
He knows this dance better than any he does at the club. “He’s—”

“Gorgeous,” interrupts a woman whose last name he thinks might be Couvent. “This is a
stunning suit. Brioni?”

Regulus nods. “Their winter collection.”

“Oh, lovely. I’ll have to tell my husband to get himself fitted. His current suit could use a few
extra stitches, if you know what I mean.” She says this last bit behind her hand. Every finger
is adorned with something shiny and massive. New money.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Couvent,” he says, itching to drift back into James’ space
and onto his arm.

“Jaqie is fine, dear. Please. There’s no need to be formal.”

Oh, yes. Very new money.

The sharks haven’t sunk their teeth into her most vulnerable parts yet. Her husband is
probably a developer. Real estate, maybe. Software is possible, too. Regardless, it made them
millions overnight. It put them here amidst the upper echelon with all of their rough edges
still intact.

Regulus should be more careful. The way he stands, the way he speaks, the way he can look
down his nose at people taller than him—this is old money. Women like Jaqie Couvent won’t
be able to notice the difference, but anyone whose edges have been sanded away will know
he isn’t cut from their cloth.

Suddenly, an arm loops around his middle. It tugs him away from Mrs. Couvent, who waves
with a bright, open smile.

“Software,” James whispers in his ear as they walk towards the bar. “Her husband’s company
developed a revolutionary program that can predict stock market highs and lows with
terrifying accuracy. It made them millionaires overnight. They might be billionaires within
the year.”

Called it, Regulus thinks while James orders a glass of whisky for himself and a glass of
white wine for Regulus. He’s already had two flutes of champagne, but it hasn’t dulled his
nerves nearly enough. “She’s nice.”

“You have more to say than that.” James leans on the bar and looks at him sidelong. “Go on,
love. Spit it out.”

“She’s new money,” he says under his breath. “I can smell it on her. She wears her wealth
like extravagance, and she’s too friendly. She’s genuinely nice.”

“I’m genuinely nice.”

“Not to all of them. There’s a difference. You understand that every handshake is a business
transaction. Every conversation is a connection to another connection to another—a web of
them. Shake even one thread the wrong way, and the entire thing could fall to pieces.”

James’ brows arch to his hairline. “Mrs. Couvent and her husband?”

“They’ll learn.”

“That’s a bit cutthroat.”

“I grew up in these spaces, James. I know what they are.”

James smiles at the bartender who’s just set their drinks on the counter. “Here,” he says,
passing Regulus a glass of white wine. “Your parents aren’t supposed to be on the guest list. I
checked before I asked you to come with me, and I confirmed it a few minutes ago. I can’t
promise they won’t show, but they shouldn’t.”

Regulus’ shoulders slump forward a fraction. “I’m sorry I’m so tense,” he says quietly,
spinning the wine glass stem between his fingers. “It’s just… It’s been a while. I don’t like
who I am at these events.”
“That’s alright. I don’t like myself much at these events, either.” James holds out his elbow
for Regulus to take it once more. “But it’s only a few hours, and then you’ll have me all to
yourself. How does that sound?”

“Fucking fantastic.” Regulus leans his cheek on James’ shoulder, unconcerned with the
curious eyes that follow them. No one has recognized him so far. They’ve talked to countless
businessmen and high society women, but if any have suspected, they haven’t dared to ask.

They flit from group to group. James keeps a hand on his lower back, a warm and grounding
presence. He doesn’t drift too far away.

Regulus sips his wine, content to engage in small conversations when prompted. He’s always
preferred to watch, to linger on the outskirts. But he’s an interesting face on the arm of a man
he’s come to realize was once considered the most eligible bachelor in the room.

It means questions—and lots of them—but he fields them with ease. As the hour slips by, he
finds himself smiling a little more, a little easier. He even laughs with the rest when yet
another old man tells yet another terrible joke.

For the first time since they stepped foot in the ballroom, Regulus allows himself a proper
breath.

James senses the shift. He turns away from his conversation, ducks his head, and sets his lips
on Regulus’ ear. “You alright, love? Feeling any better?”

“Yeah. I’m… I’m good. I think I’m alright.”

“Good. The auction will start in about fifteen minutes, and then we’ll—”

“Regulus? Est-ce bien toi?”

The world comes to an abrupt, terrible halt, and the floor falls away beneath his feet. The
ballroom, with all of its bright conversations and soft music, fades to nothing. Even his vision
narrows, blackening at the edges.

No.

No.

He finally took his first breath. He only just allowed himself a chance to breathe.

No, no—

“No,” he whispers, every muscle in his body rigid.

“Baby?” asks James. “What’s wrong?” He’s so close, his breath warm on Regulus’ skin, but
he’s still so far away. “Are you—”

“Regulus, regarde-moi. Ne fais pas semblant d’ignorer ta mère.”

 Not even the warm press of James’ hand or the concern on his beautiful face can save
Regulus from this. He shouldn’t have come. He should’ve told James no when he had the
chance.

Should’ve said, I can’t go to Milan, because I know what will happen when I swim with
sharks again. I’ve been bleeding since I was born, and they will smell my blood in the water.

James turns to look over his shoulder. His arm loops around Regulus’ waist to pull him into a
protective embrace. The last of his wine almost sloshes over the rim and ruins James’ lovely
Brioni jacket. A shame, considering it cost so damn much. He should apologize, should say
—

“Good evening.” To the rest of the world, James’ tone is nothing short of professional. But to
Regulus, it’s all wrong. Hollow. Frigid. Devoid of its gentle warmth and kindness.

He hears their voices but not their words. A shiver racks his frame, and James’ arm tightens
around him. This is the voice that still lives in his nightmares. It’s the reason he almost never
sleeps. It shouldn’t be this close to James. Shouldn’t mix with his low, lovely timber this way.

Regulus would rather die than pull away from James, but there’s no avoiding this.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and makes himself look—at his eyes, and his mouth, and
his cheekbones. At his own sharp lines and his own curly hair, black as pitch.

Bile riles in his throat. It burns his insides.

No, no, no, no, no, no no no no no anything but this please anything but her here but her in
this room but her so close to James so close to me anything but her anything but this anything
anything anything—

“Hello, Maman,” he finally says.

Walburga Black’s answering smile is a knife.

Chapter End Notes

much love to my lovely french wife evyl for her french translation help in this one <3
and to alex, as always, for his spanish help (and a little bit of yaz, too lol)

i have so many feelings about them becoming more comfortable around one another, but

walburga is here! kill her with fire i told you there was angst in milan
forgot to mention it, then hey, look! there's angst in milan!
👀
especially regulus. he's been so guarded, but he's finally softening :( but hey, look!
...and if i

anyway, thank you for reading and for all of your lovely comments 🖤 it means so much
to me. i've really fallen in love with these two and their messy little dynamic, and i'm so
excited for what's to come! see you in the next one <3
 a little context if you care to listen
Chapter Summary

milan, part two

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Regulus has always found how beautiful his mother is to be a viciously unfair truth.

Walburga Black is of average height and narrow build, but walks with her chin held high, her
shoulders back, and a grace unmatched. It ensures she becomes the most formidable presence
in the room the moment she’s entered it. Her shoes are, as always, pristinely shined and black
in color, with red soles and a heel that comes to a dangerous point. Her gown is a simple
black cocktail dress—nothing spectacular at first glance, but Regulus knows it’s custom-
made designer that cost a bloody fortune.

Five years have passed since he last saw either of his parents in the flesh. He wishes, if their
reunion had to be tonight, that it had been his father and not his mother who found him.

Looking at his mother is like looking at his own reflection in a dream. Their eyes are the
same slate-gray color, but hers are lifeless, cold, and shrewd. The set of their mouths is the
same, their lips full and marked by identical cupid’s bows, but Regulus’ knows the shape of a
true smile. Their noses, their cheekbones, the harsh lines of their bone structure, their height
and build and even their hair—Regulus is a near perfect copy-paste.

It’s a cruel truth he reluctantly accepts when he sees his mother on the front cover of Vogue or
featured in Forbes, but it’s like swallowing glass when she stands only an arm’s length away.

“It’s been a long, long time, Regulus.” Without French to soften her tone and round out her
vowels, her voice is sharp and grating. Walburga tilts her head. She doesn’t bother to hide
how she catalogs Regulus leaning into James’ chest, or how James’ arm remains around his
waist to hold him close. “You’ve made a new friend.”

He should speak. Should say more than Hello, Maman. Should tell her to get away from him
and forget she ever had a second son. Instead, panic lodges itself firmly in his throat. The
room is too hot, his chest too tight. His tongue sits heavy behind his teeth.

Regulus hates himself for his uselessness more now than he ever has.

“Walburga Black.” She holds out one slender hand for James to shake. Her fingers are bereft
of gaudy jewelry, and her wrists are bare. All of her bones are fine and delicate as a bird’s.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Potter. I’m sure you know my husband—”
“I know who you are.”

Regulus sucks in a sharp breath. There isn’t an ounce of warmth in James’ voice. Heat
emanates from his body as it always does, but his tone is frigid. Detached. Clipped. Neutral
professionalism has shifted to a much darker thing. He doesn’t acknowledge Walburga’s
outstretched hand.

“Wonderful,” she replies with false cheer. She drops her hand back to her side. “I find
introductions dreadfully boring.”

James’ fingers twitch where they curve around Regulus’ waist. He keeps a white-knuckled
grip on the tumbler of unfinished whisky in his other hand. “Can I ask what it is that you
want?”

“To say hello to the man of the hour. I’ve heard quite a few interesting things about you this
evening, Mr. Potter. It seems you’ve ruffled plenty of pretty feathers with your choice of…”
Her gaze cuts to Regulus, mouth thinning to a sharp line.

“I’m a busy man, Mrs. Black. I don’t have time to discuss tabloid gossip.”

Don’t push her James don’t push her please don’t push her. But Regulus’ tongue is still too
thick in his mouth to voice the warning. He clutches his wine glass like a lifeline, afraid he’ll
snap the delicate stem.

“Of course, of course.” It’s cordial, even polite, but Regulus marks the exact second her
pleasantries slip. “But you apparently have plenty of time to fuck my son.”

“Maman!” Regulus erupts, his panic destroyed by his outrage. He disentangles himself from
James and sets his wine glass on a nearby table, afraid he might break it on purpose just to
use the stem as a weapon.

“Oh, good. So you do remember how to speak for yourself.”

“You’re out of line,” he hisses between his teeth, taking a step towards her. James reaches for
him, their fingers brushing, but Regulus yanks his hand away. His rage threatens to bubble
over. He can already feel it shaping and sharpening his words.

This—more than his eyes or his hair or his build or his face—is his mother.

“I need to speak with you,” Walburga says airily, crossing her arms over her chest. “Alone.”

James scoffs indignantly. “No, you do—”

“And who are you, Mr. Potter? His keeper? For fuck’s sake.” Her eyes narrow, glaring over
Regulus’ shoulder. “He’s my son. Put your cock in him all you’d like, but he’s a part of our
—”

“Maman, enough,” Regulus seethes, stepping closer. His tone dips low, and he prays none of
the people nearby have overheard any of this. His skin itches under his suit; he wishes he
could peel all of it off. Become someone else and slip away. But first—this. “You want to
talk? Fine. Let’s talk. I’m sure we both have plenty to say.”

“Regulus,” James urges, reaching for him again, “you don’t—”

“James, stop. I’m fine.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as harsh as it does. James doesn’t
flinch, but his expression hardens in the second before it smooths. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m
so, so sorry. Regulus has spent five years working to be better, to be himself and not this, but
apparently a mere five minutes around his mother is enough to undo it all.

Walburga’s smile twists, ugly and cruel. She dips her chin to James. “Lovely to meet you, Mr.
Potter.”

“I can’t say the same.” A muscle works in James’ jaw. He looks from Regulus to Walburga
and back again, the whisky tumbler a potential casualty if his grip tightens any further.
“Alright,” he finally relents, though it clearly pains him to say it. “I’ll wait by the bar.”

This is a terrible idea. The absolute definition of it. His mother is unpredictable at the best of
times—clearly. There’s no telling what it is she wants to discuss, though Regulus would
hazard a guess it’s exactly what he expects: come home. But it could also be nothing. His
mother’s propensity for playing games, for maintaining control over every piece on the
board, is unmatched.

He had to learn it from somewhere, didn’t he?

“What do you want?” he asks once they’ve slipped into the shadows. Alcoves line the walls
of the ballroom, tucked away behind grand, ornately decorated columns. It keeps them far
from prying eyes and well-trained ears, but if he shifts a little left and squints, he can make
out James on the other side of the room by the bar.

“Have you sorted out your little problem?”

“What little problem?”

Walburga tapes the side of her nose, one perfect brow arched, and Regulus reels back as
though she struck him.

“How—How did you know about that?”

“Oh, Regulus.” She lays a hand on his bicep. Her touch is light but firm; he represses a
shudder. It’s what she’s looking for—chinks in his armor, vulnerable places where her knife
will fit. “You have the illusion of freedom. But we’ve been keeping an eye on you since you
ran off.”

Regulus’ stomach plummets right through pristine marble floors. He knew. Some part of him
always did. His parents were furious when Sirius left, but he had planned for it. Learned how
to cover his tracks. I’ll come back for you, Reggie. Once I’m safe and settled. Sirius had
intended to change his name, to slip out of existence entirely. To grow out his hair, change his
style, blend.
“And Sirius?” Regulus asks through gritted teeth. It’s difficult to keep himself steady with his
mother’s grip on his bicep, but if he moves even an inch, she’ll consider it a victory. “Do you
also keep tabs on your most beloved eldest son?”

Walburga tilts her head. The corners of her mouth turn down, but Regulus can’t read her. It’s
been too long since he last spoke to his mother; she’s at once familiar and a complete
stranger. “Your brother is… He’s still missing. We haven’t found him. He did a much better
job than you did at disappearing.”

As usual. Was there ever a point in running at all?

“Then again,” his mother continues, finally dropping her hand, “your brother doesn’t put
himself on the arm of a man who was first on Forbes’ Thirty Under Thirty list. Even if we
hadn’t kept an eye on you these last five years, showing up tonight with Mr. Potter was as
good as serving yourself up to us on a silver platter.”

Regulus’ throat closes, and there’s a hot prickle behind his eyes. He tried so hard to stay
away, to keep himself hidden. Maybe he should’ve changed his name, but he was only
eighteen when he ran. He had no one to help him, no one to show him how it should be done.
He didn’t have his big brother.

Then he went and made the worst choice—because he thought he was safe. After five years
of silence, of course he thought he could have something good. Somewhere out there, Sirius
has freedom. Someone who loves him. And surely he’s made friends these last ten years. He
probably has a great degree, a fantastic job. Always so charismatic and gentle and kind. The
brightest in a room, the first to be noticed.

Why couldn’t Regulus have it all, too?

Why has it always been only Sirius—even now?

“How much do you know?” he asks, the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders.

“Enough,” Walburga replies with a wave of her hand. “But it’s easily forgiven. Do you know
how many of our friends have children who went through similar phases? Really, Regulus.
All we care about is that you don’t need help anymore.”

He wants to scream. He wants to curl his hand into a fist and drive it through the column to
his left. Who cares that it will shatter every knuckle? At least he’ll feel something other than
what he does now.

Mad as it is, he truly believed he’d succeeded. He thought that if his parents knew where he
was, they would come knocking on his door, or appear in one of his lecture halls, or even
walk into the club where he works. But months turned to years without a word, and he
deluded himself into believing their silence wasn’t just another game.

Five whole years of his life—and as fucked up and messy as they’ve been, they were his.
But he’s been an unwitting actor in a play he didn’t realize he had a part in. Like some
terribly twisted version of The Truman Show, where his life is real, his friends are real, he is
real—but he’s still just as watched, monitored, and manipulated as Truman Burbank.

He’s not sure if he wants to laugh, scream, cry, or do some awful version of all three.

“Much as I find your proclivity for men distasteful,” Walburga continues, drawing him back
to the ballroom, “I will admit Mr. Potter is an advantageous match. He’s incredibly wealthy,
and his company is doing well. His stocks are—”

“Stay away from him, Maman. Stay the fuck away.” Regulus’ rage bubbles to the surface
again, threatening to spill over. “He has nothing to do with our fucked up family. Leave him
out.”

“You brought him into the fold, so I’m not sure why you’re upset with me.”

“Because he’s mine, not another toy for you and Papa to play with. I’m not a part of your
family anymore.”

Walburga rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Your father and I told you when you left that there’s
nowhere you can run and nowhere we won’t find you. So come home, Regulus. Quit
pretending you aren’t a proper Black. It might take some convincing on your father’s side,
but we’ll even welcome Mr. Potter with open arms if that’s what it takes.”

“Why? So you can chew him up and spit him out the way you do with all the rest?” Regulus
searches his mother’s eyes. His eyes. God, he fucking hates them. “I won’t allow that to
happen, and I’m not going home.”

“We’re your family, Regulus.”

“No, you’re not. Not anymore. How many times do I have to say it? I made a new one after I
left.”

“Oh, please,” Walburga scoffs. “Your little band of misfits? That isn’t where you belong.
You’re an heir, Regulus. To an empire. To a fortune you can’t even comprehend. I promise
none of this will matter—Mr. Potter will not matter—when you inherit all of it.”

He doesn’t want it—he’s never wanted it—but just as he’s about to tell her all of this and then
some, it dawns on him. It’s in the agitated set of her shoulders, the slight furrow in her brow.
She would never admit to it, but in this moment, Walburga Black is groveling.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” Regulus whispers, his shock palpable. “You’re terrified I’ll
bring it all down.” Then his grin spreads, as slow and cruel as hers. “Do you lie awake at
night wondering when I’ll do it? If I’ll do it? Do you wonder why I haven’t?”

“You know nothing.” She practically spits the words—and Regulus knows, for the first time
in his life, that he’s won.

“Is that why you’re begging for me instead of searching for Sirius? You’ll really do anything,
won’t you? You hate that I’m gay, but you’ll let James into the family? Oh, this is rich. Is it
because I know all about Papa and his—” He gasps at the sudden sting in his jaw. His
mother’s fingers, long and vicious and digging, grip the sides of his face.

“Whatever you think you know, you don’t. You and Sirius have always been so full of
yourselves. Convinced you know it all.” And this is the fissure in her façade. The moment of
truth when all of her fine porcelain cracks to expose the nastiness underneath. “And you
know better than to open your mouth. It’ll destroy your fortune, too.”

Regulus cackles despite the twinge in his jaw. “I make my own money, Maman. I don’t need
yours.”

“Fucking James Potter isn’t a job. Showing men your body isn’t work.”

“The second one is my job. But the first one? That’s just for fun.” He grins as much as he can
manage with the pressure of her fingers digging into his cheeks. Cold fire burns in her eyes,
and her nostrils flare. But she wouldn’t dare strike him here.

“Enough. Enough,” she seethes, all but hissing like a cornered stray. “You will come home,
Regulus. And you will keep your mouth shut.”

Regulus has never in all his twenty-three years of life felt as giddy and powerful as he does
right now. “Should I tell you how James gives it to me?” he asks sweetly, grinning so wide
her nails will leave little crescents in his cheeks. “It really is an advantageous match, Maman.
See, he’s got the biggest cock I’ve ever taken, and he fucks me hard and fast with it, and—”

The back of her hand connects with his cheek, and a sharp crack echoes off the walls. He
shouldn’t have underestimated her, but it’s been too long. There’s a slight sting under his eye;
she’s broken skin. Not much, but enough that when he reaches up to touch his burning cheek,
a narrow line of blood shines on his fingertip.

For one bitter, terrible moment, he thinks, Sirius would be proud of me.

“Leave,” Walburga snaps, her eyes burning brighter than before. “Get out, or I’ll have
security haul you out in front of everyone in this room.”

She wouldn’t dare—it would disgrace the entire family if he wound up on the front page of a
tabloid—but he doesn’t want to stay. He’s suddenly and inexplicably exhausted. All the fight
left with her slap across his cheek, and every bone in his body aches. He wants out of this
ballroom as much as she wants him gone.

He doesn’t bother with a goodbye. He slips out of the alcove without a second glance.
Walburga’s furious gaze bores holes into the space between his shoulder blades, but he’s
already mapped a path to the exit. He’ll have to walk through a room full of society’s elite
with a thin line of blood on his cheek, but fuck it.

Fuck all of it.

Without really thinking, he grabs a bottle of unopened champagne from one of the buckets on
a table he passes. Someone shouts after him, probably panicked waitstaff, but he doesn’t hear
them. The bottle is cold against his palm. He can already taste the sweetness of it on his
tongue, the buzz that’ll hit once he’s had enough.

It’s a large bottle, meant to fill countless glasses before it’s tossed, but that’s alright. He’s
drunk himself into deeper bottles before. This one is exactly what he needs, and if he reaches
the bottom then maybe, just maybe, he can forget. Be someone else. Go somewhere else.
Lose a little bit of himself and—

“Regulus!”

He flinches, shouldering past a woman and her husband who both scuttle away from him.

Don’t follow me. Just let me go.

“Regulus, where are—? Excuse me. I’m so sorry. Sorry, sorry. Excuse me, thank you.
Regulus!”

He doesn’t look back to see if James manages to break through the crowd. A few people
shoot him second glances, but he’s gone before they can register what it is they’re seeing. He
hears it again—Regulus, wait!—but there’s cold air on his skin, the whole of Milan at his
feet.

With a steadying breath, he runs down the steps two at a time to the street, takes a sharp left
to go God only knows where, and puts the auction, his wicked witch of a mother, and James
Potter behind him.

“Stupid—fucking—machine,” Regulus seethes, each word punctuated by a kick to the closed

metal shutter of a tobacco shop.

It’s damaging his new Oxfords, but he’s too pissed off to care. This isn’t an area of Milan that
sees enough tourists, and every place selling tobacco within walking distance of the auction
closed hours ago. His only hope is this vending machine tucked behind a metal shutter
covered in graffiti, with exact cut outs for access.

But he isn’t Italian. He doesn’t have the card he needs to prove he’s of age, and the machine
refuses to dispense him a pack of cigarettes no matter how many times he furiously presses
buttons.

“Fucking useless.”

He glares at the offending machine, then crouches down beside it, elbows on his knees and
head in his hands. He’s a little dizzy, but not nearly close enough to where he needs to be to
forget tonight’s events. The champagne bottle sits, already opened and a quarter finished,
between his feet.
But the edge just won’t leave. He can still hear his mother’s taunting voice, feel the grip of
her fingers on his jaw. He’s almost positive he managed to wipe the blood off of his cheek
with his jacket sleeve. At the very least, his fingertips no longer come away marred by a thin
line of crimson.

His phone buzzed in his pocket for about thirty minutes before it stopped. He didn’t even
have to look to know it was James. It only served to worsen the itch under his skin, and that
was about the time Regulus decided he needs a cigarette. It’s been ages since he last smoked,
but desperate times.

“Ou! Tutto a posto?”

Regulus looks up to find a man staring down at him. He’s older. Mid-forties and handsome,
with salt and pepper hair and a kind set to his mouth and eyes. He watches Regulus with
blatant concern.

“Vuoi comprare le sigarette?”

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, “but I don’t speak Italian.”

“Oh. That’s alright.” The man grins, warm and inviting. His accent is thick, but his words
flow easily. He jerks his chin at the machine. “I asked if you are buying cigarettes. Are you
English?”

“I am, yeah.”

The man grins crookedly. “Ah. This makes sense. The machine will not work for you.”

He doesn’t mean to, but Regulus scowls. “Worked that much out for myself, thanks.”

“Here. I can help. Do you have money?”

Regulus regards the man warily. “Why?”

“I have a—a, ah, come si chiama la tessera sanitaria?” He squints up at the dark evening sky,
then adds in a rush, “Aha! The health insurance card. That is what you need.”

“Can you even do that? Is it even legal?” Regulus straightens, careful not to knock over the
bottle of champagne.

The man waves a dismissive hand. His grin is full, a little mischievous, but the sight of it
doesn’t make Regulus’ gut twist. There’s a gold band on the man’s left ring finger, and he
seems entirely uninterested in Regulus—except to take pity on him, it seems.

“What would you like? Choose something.”

Regulus scans the vending machine’s selection. “Those,” he says, pointing to a carton of
white and gold with red and black lettering. At the sight of them, he’s thirteen and sitting on a
grassy knoll with his shoulder pressed against Sirius’. Twenty cigarettes are lined up neat and
tidy on the ground in front of them.
You can only get these in Italy, Reggie. They’re famous. Used to put ‘em in all the Italian
movies.

Regulus had wheezed after his first lungful of smoke but still managed to protest, I don’t care
if they’re famous. They’re vile!

You’ll get used to them. Seriously, these are the best. Even says it in the name. It means ‘best
crop.’

Are they your favorite?

They’re better than the British ones, so yeah, I think so.

You’re just saying that because some hot Italian guy bought them for you.

Sirius’ grin had been brighter than the midafternoon sun. Maybe, yeah. So don’t waste them.

“Here you are.” The man holds out the little carton to Regulus, his smile still warm. “Do you
need a lighter?”

“Yeah, actually. Can I buy one from the machine?”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “No. But here, you can have this one. I always carry an
extra.”

Regulus gapes at the stranger, sputtering, “No, that’s alright. Really, I promise. I’m fine,” but
the man shoves a little metal lighter into his palm anyway.

“I think maybe you need this more than me, yes?” He folds Regulus’ fingers over the cool
metal piece.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to… Thank you,” Regulus repeats. “I appreciate it.”

The man pats his shoulder, tucks a carton of his own cigarettes away in his pocket, then steps
back towards the road. “I hope your evening improves. Those are good cigarettes and that is
good champagne, but I think wine is always better. Ciao.”

Regulus stares stupidly after the man long after he disappears around a bend.

His mind is blank except for thoughts of that day in the grass, when he and Sirius smoked
five cigarettes each before Regulus lamented he was too lightheaded to smoke more. They
tucked the remaining cigarettes away in their little white and gold packs, and agreed to
siphon the rest rather than chain smoke them all.

We’ll save them for really bad days, Sirius had said, tucking the carton under his mattress
when they got home.

Between the two of them, they’d finished the rest of the pack in less than a week.
Regulus sets the filter between his teeth and cups his hand around the end, pleased when the
lighter comes to life immediately. The first inhale makes him cough, his lungs furious, but
after a few minutes, it’s as easy as breathing again. The taste isn’t exactly as he remembers it,
but then again, it’s been ten years.

With a sigh, he snatches the champagne bottle off the ground, tucks the carton and lighter
inside his jacket, and starts walking. The cigarette helps with the jittery bounce of nerves
under his skin, but no matter how much he drinks, all he hears is there’s nowhere you can
run, and there’s nowhere we won’t find you.

He was insane to ever think he’d be free of them.

Ignoring the notifications piled up from James, he unlocks his phone and dials.

Evan answers on the second ring. “Reggie? You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Regulus’ shoulders hunch forward against a cold breeze. There’s no point in
lying to his best friends. They’ll figure it out. “No, actually,” he admits. “I’m pretty fucking
far from alright.”

“Hold on. Barty! Reg is on the phone. Something happened.” There’s the clink of dishes in
the sink, then Barty’s voice grumbling that he’ll go to Milan right now and beat the shit out
of James Potter if I fuckin’ have to, before Evan asks, “What’s wrong? Is it James?”

“No. It’s not… No.”

“Gotta give us more than that, babe,” Barty says, closer now. “There are no trains until
morning, but I can probably catch a flight.”

Regulus looses a shaky laugh. His cigarette has almost burned down to the filter, but he
doesn’t want to waste the little bit that’s left. He takes a long drag to settle his nerves again.

“Oh, you’re smoking. That’s not a good sign. That’s—” Evan makes a quiet noise. “That’s
family-level bad shit. Who was there?”

“My mother. Maybe my father too, but I didn’t see him. Only her.”

“Oh, not Walbitch,” Barty seethes. “Has no one put a hit out on her yet? I’m shocked. All of
that money, and what is it good for? The people I’d take out if I—”

Evan cuts him off with a terse, “Barty. Not right now.”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry, Reg. What did she say?”

“She told me she wants me to come home. Among other things.” There’s a small park up
ahead with deserted benches. He makes a beeline for it, stubbing his cigarette out on a metal
trash can. “She asked if I’m over my little ‘problem.’ Apparently my parents have been
keeping an eye on me for a while.”

“Fuck,” Barty says under his breath.

Regulus imagines the two of them huddled together at the bar looking in on their kitchen,
each one sat on a stool with their knees bumping together. Barty will bounce his so violently
Evan will have to lay a firm hand on it to still him. Easy gestures. Familiar.

There was never adequate room for Regulus in their equation. Not in the way there was
always room for the two of them. They loved him, but they weren’t in love with him. The
difference is astounding when you know what it looks and feels like.

But right now, lost in the middle of an unfamiliar city with nothing but cigarettes and
champagne, he’d give anything to fit between them somehow. Maybe familiarity is what he
needs to feel settled again. Like he belongs somewhere and is still wanted despite the mess of
it all.

“Where’s your head at, Reggie?” asks Evan gently. “If you need to come home…”

“No, I’m alright. Well, not really. But I’ll be alright. Eventually.” Regulus sits on a bench
slightly off to the side of a wide gravel lane. It cuts through the park, bridging two narrow
streets. There’s a grassy area surrounded by trees in front of him. It’s dark, lit by nothing but
the moon overhead. “I left James at the auction.”

“Shit. Did he say something to you?”

“No, I ran out. He shouted after me, but I don’t think he was able to follow me. I haven’t seen
him. He’s called and texted a bunch of times, but…” Regulus’ fingers tighten around the
edges of his phone. It hasn’t buzzed in a while. “Anyway, I think I’ll probably just hang out
here and wait until morning. Then I’ll catch a flight home or something.”

The silence on the other end is unbelievably loud.

“What?” He sets the champagne bottle between his feet and grabs for the pack of cigarettes in
his jacket. “Say it. Spit it out.”

“Before I give him any benefit he doesn’t deserve—did James do something wrong?”

Regulus pauses with an unlit cigarette between his teeth. “Huh?”

“James,” Evan says again, slower this time. “Did he do anything wrong?”

“No. I just don’t want to involve him in all of this shit. He doesn’t need the drama that comes
with my family. With me.”

“But he knows who you are now, right?”

“He’s known, apparently. He told me before the auction.” Regulus flinches at the memory of
their conversation in the limo, of James taking him apart with tongue and teeth. He scrambles
for the little silver lighter.

January in Milan is cold, and his fingers aren’t having it. Up until now, he’s been more or less
numb to the chill. But he’s no longer walking. He’s sat in an empty park with a cold bottle of
champagne for company. His nose is stiff, and there’s a slight ache in his left ear. Will he
even be able to stay here until morning?

“So he knows…and he doesn’t care?” asks Barty, speaking as slow as Evan.

“If you think I’m obtuse, just fucking say it,” Regulus snaps, hackles raised. His fury still
simmers under the surface. “I didn’t call you two for—”

“Don’t walk out on him.”

Regulus blinks into the darkness several times. “Huh?”

“Whatever really stupid thing you’re about to do—don’t do it,” Evan clarifies for Barty, his
tone urgent and rushed. “Reg, you’ve been so happy. Every time you talk about him you light
up like a fucking Christmas tree. And the way he looks at you… If he’d done something
really fucked up tonight, we would be the first ones to tell you to come home—”

“Fuck yeah, we would,” adds Barty.

“—but don’t push him out. He’s been really, really good for you. And weren’t you just saying
the other day that you want to see where this goes? I get that your mum showing up makes
you want to tuck tail and run as far away as you can, but maybe just…”

“Run into one hundred ninety centimeters of delicious Latino man instead of back home to
dreary old London?” finishes Barty, snickering when Evan shushes him. “I’m serious! Reg,
we love you, but you do this. You run from everything when you’re scared. And that’s fine—
sometimes. But even I think you’ll be making a big mistake if you do it this time.”

Regulus exhales smoke and watches it curl. From where he sits, if he tilts his head just right,
it wraps around the moon. “You know, if I’d wanted a voice of reason then I would’ve called
Lily.”

“She just left an hour ago, so I think we’re only being this reasonable because she rubbed off
on us,” Evan muses. “But you know she’d tell you the same thing we are. Talk to James. He’s
got nice, strong shoulders. I’m sure he can handle carrying around a little extra baggage if it’s
yours.”

“Fuck off,” Regulus mutters, smiling around the cigarette despite himself. “What should I tell
him? All of it?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” says Barty. “And if he forces you to share shit you
don’t want to, then you come running home to dreary old London. Or you find yourself a nice
Italian man for the evening. Whichever you prefer.”

Regulus snorts. “Thanks for the idea.”

“Idiot. Don’t say that,” Evan hisses under his breath to Barty. “Reg, talk to James first.
Please? No Italian men. Not yet.”
“Not yet,” he echoes. “I promise. But I need to text James back first. I don’t even know
where I am.”

“Send us your location, yeah?” Barty sounds earnest, his worry seeping through his usual
lighthearted quips. “Just in case. You’re in a city you don’t know.”

“Yeah, I will. Talk to you later?”

Evan and Barty each give him a parting love you, Reggie before they’re gone and he’s alone
again. He sends them his location before he forgets, then does the absolute last thing he wants
to do—checks his missed calls and unread texts.

11 Missed Calls—and all of them are from James. There are even more unread messages.

James
What happened?
Reg? Are you alright?
Fuck baby I’m so sorry
I really didn’t know they would be here
I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d known
Not that I didn’t WANT to bring you because I did!!!
But I want to protect you more than I wanted to come here.
I don’t blame you if you’re furious with me right now
I’m sorry I called so much
And that I’m texting so much
Just please let me know if you’re alright
Or if you need me to send someone to come get you
I can get a different room. A whole different hotel. It’s fine!
Just please please please let me know you’re okay.

But it’s not until the last few messages that Regulus’ mouth falls open and his heart lurches
out of his chest.

James
Right. So. I did something very very VERY stupid.
It was worth it though. I swear.
Please don’t be mad but…
Well I sorta punched your dad.

James answers on the first ring.

“Oh, thank—”

“You did what?!” Regulus’ voice comes out high-pitched and thin. “James, please don’t tell
me you did what you said.”

“Punched your dad? Yeah, I might’ve.” James sounds a bit sheepish but not at all apologetic.
“He won’t come after me, though. He threw the first punch. Mine just connected with his
jaw.”

Regulus runs a hand down his face, laughing under his breath. “What the fuck happened after
I left?”

“I went up to your mum and asked what she said to make you run off, but then your dad came
out of nowhere and started making a scene. We were off to the side so I don’t think he
thought people would notice. But he’s a loud guy, you know? So people definitely noticed.
But it was too late by then. I was in his face, he was in my face, and then he threw a punch.
And missed, by the way.”

“My dad doesn’t punch people for no reason.”

James scoffs. “Who said I didn’t give him a reason?”

“What did you say to him?”

“Well, I called him lots of very colorful and nasty names that I’m not proud of. And then he
insulted you, so I called him even more nasty names. And then I might have decided to insult
your mother, which I’m also not proud of and will be scolded by my mum for, but that’s what
got him to throw the first punch.”

“And then you punched my dad.”

“And then I punched your dad.”

Regulus shakes his head, still reeling. “God, you’re an idiot. That’ll be all over TMZ by the
morning.”

“I sure as hell hope so. That was a good fucking punch.” James hisses, then adds, “Hurt my
hand, though. Your dad is built like a wall.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is… Hold on.”

Regulus pulls the phone away from his ear, still shaking his head. His insides are warm,
though he’s not sure if it’s from the champagne he guzzled while reading James’ messages or
if it’s from the sound of James’ voice. Regardless, Regulus sends his location, then asks
softly, “Come find me?”

“Already on my way.”

He smokes another cigarette while he waits, mind spinning from the nicotine and his own
errant thoughts. He doesn’t know if he has the courage to tell James everything, but he’s also
not sure there’s a benefit in hiding it anymore. Evan and Barty were right—he does want to
see where this thing between him and James goes.

But he can’t do that if he’s still keeping secrets.

Regulus watches tendrils of smoke curl into the air from the end of his cigarette. He’s
hunched against the cold with his elbows on his knees, but he looks up at the sound of
approaching footsteps.

James stops a few paces away, suit jacket hooked around his finger and thrown over his
shoulder. He tucks his phone in the front pocket of his trousers and shifts his weight from
foot to foot. “Hi,” he says quietly, concern written in every line of his face. “Are you…?”

“I’m okay.” Regulus flicks ash off the end of his cigarette. He feels pinned under the weight
of James’ stare. “How’s your hand?”

“Oh, it’s fine. Nothing’s broken. Pa taught me how to punch right.”

The corner of Regulus’ mouth twitches. “I’m sorry I ran out.”

“It’s okay. I was just worried about something happening to you. But I…” James scuffs his
shoe on the ground, kicking up gravel. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to
leave you alone? I can go sit somewhere else. Or take a walk. I just needed to know you’re
alright. And see you’re in one piece.”

Regulus’ heart beats an erratic rhythm against his ribs. The man in front of him keeps his
posture relaxed, but Regulus can see the tense set of his shoulders. The way his hand flexes at
his side. His knuckles are bruised, the skin split over some. Exactly how many punches did
James get in before someone hauled him off?

If he stays, the conversation will become inevitable. There’s no doubt about it. Regulus wants
to tell him everything even though it terrifies him. But the alternative is asking James to walk
away, to let him go, and if James leaves…

“Don’t go,” he finds himself saying before he can think twice about it. “Stay. Please.”

James’ whole body visibly relaxes. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Yeah, of course.” Regulus shuffles over on the bench to give James room to sit next to him.
To his surprise, James holds out a hand. “You smoke?”

“Not really, but I’m a little on edge.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.” Regulus passes him the cigarette and watches out of the corner of his
eye. He’s not at all surprised James looks this attractive with a cigarette between his lips,
smoke billowing from his nostrils, the corners of his mouth. It does piss Regulus off a little
bit, though. Quit being everything I want. “So, you’ve met my parents. What did you think?”

James snorts, and smoke puffs from his nose. “They’re lovely.”
“Aren’t they?” Regulus reaches for the champagne bottle between his feet. “Unfortunately,
they’re not the worst of the bunch. Bellatrix is definitely the nastiest. She’ll carve you into
little pieces if you give her the chance.”

“Lestrange?”

“Her reputation precedes her.”

James blows a smoke ring into the air, scrunching his nose. “We’ve met. I’m not a fan.”

“Most aren’t.”

“Anyone else I should keep an eye out for?”

Regulus brings the bottle to his lips, but he finds it difficult to swallow the sweet, bubbly
liquid. His heart has taken up residency in his throat, and his stomach has left his body. After
he finally manages a hearty swallow, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and
whispers, “My brother.”

“Sirius.”

He can’t stop the full body flinch at the sound of his brother’s name in James’ mouth. “You
knew I was lying, didn’t you? That first night when we went out to eat and I said I was an
only child. You knew.”

James twirls the cigarette between his fingers, lips pursed. “I did, yeah. I’ve known who you
are since the night you told me your real name. Not a lot of Regulus Blacks in the world,
much less in England.”

“No, I suppose there aren’t,” Regulus mutters bitterly.

“I figured you had a good reason for lying. It wasn’t my place to pry. It was the first time
we’d ever met outside of the club, and I didn’t want to fuck it up by forcing you to out all of
your secrets like I deserved to know them.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Know what, love?”

“Why I lied.”

James glances at him sidelong. He’s quiet for a moment, lost in thought behind his glasses.
Then, “I want to know all about you, but I’m not going to push. Tell me as much or as little
as you want.”

With a shaky exhale, Regulus plucks the cigarette from between James’ lips and passes him
the bottle of champagne. It’s half-empty, and the cigarette is nearly finished, but there are
plenty enough of both to get him through this.
“Sirius left when I was fourteen.” The words are acid on his tongue. Nasty, awful things he
keeps locked away. James drinks quietly beside him, waiting. “He just…walked out. Said
he’d come back for me and then never fucking did. I waited every day, because he promised.
I let my mother hit and scream at me. I let my father slam me to the floor. I took it all—
because Sirius promised he would come back.”

James holds out the champagne, but Regulus shakes his head. He snubs out his cigarette and
lights another instead.

“I waited for four years. Four. He never wrote. Never called. Didn’t bother to reach out. He
left me all alone in that house with people he knew would hurt me, and he didn’t even bother
to check I was alive.” His laugh is a humorless, dead thing. “I realized I meant nothing to my
brother when he walked out, so as far as I’m concerned, he means nothing to me, too.”

This time, he reaches for the bottle of champagne, and James lets him take it.

“I don’t know if he’s still alive. I don’t know where he is. I thought about looking for him
after I left, but I think if I saw him… I don’t know what I’d do. Scream at him? Strangle him?
Cry? Ask him how he could do that to his little brother? Is there a point to any of it? It
doesn’t change what happened or what he did.”

James reaches out to rest a hand on Regulus’ thigh. It stills the incessant up down up down
up down his leg has done for the past few minutes. “What happened after you left? Once you
were on your own?”

“I went off the fucking rails. Or at least that’s how Pandora usually puts it.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” James assures softly. He reaches for
the cigarette; it’s been burning to ash between Regulus’ fingers. “I told you earlier—you can
take whatever shape you want. Tell me, don’t tell me. It won’t change how I feel about you.”

“Don’t speak so soon.”

“I promise I’m not.”

Regulus fiddles with the bottle’s fancy label. His tongue sits heavy behind his teeth again, but
he takes a deep breath of cool air—and begins. “I didn’t have a lot when I left. I put away as
much money as I could the year leading up to my eighteenth birthday, but I didn’t know the
first thing about the real world. My parents sheltered us. I only ever knew ungodly wealth.”

The champagne is no longer a comfort, but he drinks it anyway. “I secretly applied to a uni
far away from our house in Islington, but since I turned eighteen in June, I didn’t have
anywhere to go during the months in between. I was in and out of hotels, which burned
through a lot of the money I’d saved. And I was alone. No friends. No family. I found a flat
near campus, but…”

James finishes the cigarette and holds out his hand. Regulus passes him the carton and little
silver lighter.
“Term started, and I don’t think I’d ever felt more alone in my entire life. Uni was always
something Sirius and I talked about doing the same way. He’s four years older, so the plan
was that he’d leave, get settled, then come back for me so we could live in the same flat.
Then I’d go to the same uni as him once I graduated. Before everything happened, we were…
We were close.”

Regulus sips champagne, his gaze trained on the moon. “I had a hard time making friends. I
didn’t know how. I always had Sirius, and the friends our parents bought for us. Everyone
wants to be friends with your wallet when it’s deeper than the fucking Mariana Trench. So it
was easy for me to fall in with the wrong people. It’s not like I knew what the ‘wrong people’
looked like.”

He watches James out of the corner of his eye. James’ face remains impassive, not lost in
thought but listening intently. He cups his hand around the end of a cigarette to light it when a
cold wind blows through. Once he’s satisfied, his hand rests back on Regulus’ thigh.

It’s a gentle squeeze that gives him the courage to keep going.

“It was fine at first, but within a few months I was partying. Hard. The people I was ‘friends’
with had just enough money to be dangerous. I still had just enough. And the more I drank
with them, the more they seemed to like me. When you have no friends and no family, you’ll
do anything, I think. And it… It helped me forget.”

The memories ooze between the slats of the box Regulus usually keeps them in, and not for
the first time, he wishes he could turn back time and redo that first year and a half he was on
his own.

James squeezes his thigh again.

“We’d stay out all night, sleep an hour or two, go to class, and then do it all again. The people
I was friends with knew all the good parties and clubs. We got in everywhere. Summer is
when it got really bad, though. We didn’t have classes, so I was out all night, sleeping all
day… And then it got—it got so much worse.”

He inhales a shaky breath, palms clammy despite the cold. James’ hand slips on his thigh,
fingers tucked underneath his leg and thumb rubbing absently back and forth. It’s what he
does when he drives, and the familiarity of it soothes Regulus more than the champagne and
cigarettes combined.

“I hit rock bottom at the end of summer just before term started up again. I was drinking a
lot. Started doing coke. My friends could get it easily, and it was just…something more. But I
was running out of money.” Regulus pulls the label off the bottle piece by piece. “I slept
around. Did shit I shouldn’t have for extra money. Hated myself for all of it, so I drank more.
Did more drugs.”

The lines of James’ body are tense, but his thumb still follows the same back and forth path
on Regulus’ thigh.
“It was a bad cycle, because the second I was sober, I would spiral and remember everything.
My parents, Sirius, what I was doing and why… I was so bitter and angry. And I was
surrounded by people as fucked up and awful as I was. I didn’t know how to get out of it.”

It’s impossible to read James. He’s hidden all of his cards, waiting to see what hand Regulus
plays first. But at least he hasn’t left yet, and there’s no going back now.

“I was probably well on my way to a stay in the hospital when I met Evan and Barty.” Most
of the time he spent intoxicated is a blur, but after Evan and Barty barreled into his life, the
fog lifts enough for him to remember finer details. “They were wild, and they partied, but not
like me. They knew how to do it in moderation.”

These memories hurt a little less, even if they’re not exactly part of a pretty picture. James
squeezes his thigh gently again.

“We were…together. Me, Barty, and Evan. For a bit. We became friends, and then one night
it just sort of…happened. Pretty sure we were all a little drunk and high, but the next time we
were sober. And the time after that. It kept happening, until they told me I could stay with
them instead of in the shitty flat I shared with my shitty friends.”

Regulus inhales a shaky, chilled breath. He sips champagne but feels terribly sober. “Anyway,
they told me no more drinking in excess. No more hard drugs. For the first time in almost two
years, I remember thinking, ‘Oh. People do care about me.’ But it took months. I was a mess,
and I didn’t know how to deal with the paranoia that my family was watching me when I was
sober.”

Without a word, James passes him the cigarette. He takes it and offers the champagne in
return. James swallows a hearty gulp before Regulus barrels on.

“I didn’t know how to deal with the loss of Sirius, either. Mourning someone who isn’t even
dead is the worst fucking thing. I knew he was out there somewhere, but it didn’t feel that
way. He wasn’t the one sitting on the bathroom floor with me while I detoxed, or helping me
find a center where I could stay anonymous but still get help. So I made a little family of my
own. Barty helped me get a job at the club so I could get back on my feet and stay in school,
and that’s… Well, that’s it, really. Now, I’m here.”

The last words settle between them, heavy and final. Regulus’ skin crawls, but he said what
he needed to. He was honest. He ripped the bandage off and there was nothing to do now but
hope James doesn’t mind a very nasty, very open wound.

I know this probably isn’t what you wanted. Panic settles in his chest the longer James
remains silent. He looks deep in thought now. Regulus has let the cigarette burn down to the
filter again. You probably thought this would be easier. A pretty stripper to play with. Your
sugar baby for a little while. Easy and fun and nice.

James blows smoke into the air. He’s lit his own cigarette, the bottle of champagne wedged
between his thighs. There’s a slight crease between his brows, but the remainder of his
expression remains smooth. Unreadable.
This is why I have so many different versions of myself. It’s easier to hide the nasty bits with
something pretty and fun. There’s so much Regulus wants to say, but will any of it make a
difference? He snubs his cigarette on the metal armrest of the bench. Grinds it to dust, unable
to stop himself from destroying something in the silence.

It’s stretched on for too long. He fucked up. He should’ve kept it all locked away and had fun
with James without all of this. It would’ve been easier, right? Even if the secrets grew too big
to ignore and eventually broke them both under the weight, it would’ve been easier to pretend
he didn’t have an awful family and missing brother and messy past. Issues upon issues upon
—

“I think I’m going to end up falling in love with you.”

Regulus’ head snaps to the side so hard his neck twinges. “What?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty certain of it, actually.” James squints up at the night sky, his mouth
bunched to one side. “I’ve never been very good at doing things halfway. It’s why I’m not
usually a gambling man.”

“I’m sorry, but can we rewind, like, five seconds?”

“I don’t care what you did or who you were. If you’re ashamed of it, don’t be. I know that’s
easier said than done, but none of it changes how I feel about you. Honestly, love, it’ll take a
lot more than that to get rid of me.” He shoots Regulus a crooked grin, squeezing his thigh
again. “Your parents are awful fucking people. No one can blame you for not knowing how
to deal with all of that. You were only eighteen.”

Regulus shifts his gaze to his feet, cheeks burning and neck hot. “I’m not proud of it, though.
I could’ve done better. I could’ve been better. If I’d just…”

“Stop. Don’t do that to yourself. You were alone in that house for four years with people who
liked hurting you. And they’re people who are never supposed to hurt you. I can’t even
imagine what that felt like. And then to run away all on your own? That’s not easy to do.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he says softly. “I just wish I’d done it differently. Maybe then I
wouldn’t feel so shitty about it all of the time.”

James has taken to spinning the cigarette carton between his fingers, lips pursed while he
continues staring up at the sky. “Have you…” He clears his throat, then tries again. “Have
you ever thought about trying to find him? Your brother, I mean. I know no one’s seen him in
years, but—”

“Absolutely the fuck not.” Regulus recoils at the suggestion, shaking his head vehemently.
“He left, James. Just walked out and left. No calls. No messages. Nothing. He broke his
promise. And really, I should’ve seen it coming. He had a boyfriend when he left. He didn’t
need me. Not like I needed him. But I don’t need him anymore, so wherever he is, I hope his
life is nice. Easy.”

“I don’t have a brother, but if I did—”

“I mean it, James. I’ve had the money to try and find him for a long time. I could’ve given it
a shot. Hell, he’s probably no more hidden than I am. I’m sure our parents are one step
behind him. They know all about me and I thought I was safe,” he adds, bile rising in his
throat again. “So just… Let it go. Please. Yes, I have a brother. But as far as I’m concerned, I
don’t. And I’m okay with that. I mourned him, and I have my own family now. They’re more
than good enough for me.”

James nods slowly, blowing air past his lips. “Alright. I’m sorry. I just thought I’d ask. Do
you feel better, though? Now that you’ve told me?”

“I feel…lighter. Not better, because those memories really fucking suck. But I’m glad that
you know. And that you didn’t get up and walk away.” Regulus shuffles closer to James’
side. He sighs, content, when the warmth that always radiates off of James eases some of the
cold. “You still haven’t explained yourself.”

“Mm?”

Regulus sets his chin on James’ shoulder, curls tickling the tip of his nose. “I know you know
what I’m talking about. You’re very smart.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“James.”

“All I’ve wanted since this started was to know you. Not the version you think will protect
you, but the real you.” James turns so their noses brush. This close, he smells of champagne,
Italian cigarettes, and sandalwood laced with citrus. “And I think I just met him for the first
time.”

Regulus searches James’ eyes for any sign he might be lying, but there’s nothing there but
gentle warmth.

“In case you couldn’t tell, I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. I can hide it sometimes, but
not with you. Not anymore. So I’m asking very nicely that you please don’t break it, but it’s
not going to be long before I hand it right over.”

“What happened to taking this slow?”

“That was the respectable, gentlemanly version of me. He’s better at moderation. I didn’t
want to be too much and scare you off. It can happen sometimes, and I was terrified it would
happen with you.”

Regulus arches a brow, leaning in close enough he has to tilt his head to keep their noses
from bumping. “Then what about the non-gentlemanly James? Does he want to take this
slow?”

“No, not at all. He’s actually a little obsessed with you.” James reaches to cup Regulus’
cheek. His thumb rubs gently under Regulus’ eye, right over the spot where his mother split
skin. “Are you alright, though? This evening was…not what I thought it would be. Most of
the older families send liaisons in their place, so I thought even if they did plan to bid, they
wouldn’t show their faces. I’m so sorry, love. I really did check before I invited you.”

Oh, he does not deserve this man. He knows he doesn’t, but his fingers still circle James’
wrist to hold his hand in place. Regulus turns into his palm, breathing deep. “I’m alright,” he
answers honestly. “A little shaken up, but I’ll be fine. I can’t go back there, though. I can’t
see her again.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I can’t go back their either.” James’ grin broadens, and he looks far too
pleased with himself. “Punched your dad, remember? Security hauled me out. And him, I
think, but they were smart and took him somewhere else.”

“Oh, God.” Regulus laughs with his lips pressed to the soft, tender spot at the base of James’
thumb. “I need you to know that’s the hottest thing you could’ve ever done.” He pulls back,
twisting James’ hand to stare at his bruised knuckles. “Did he go down? Tell me he didn’t
stay standing.”

“Like a sack of potatoes.”

“How many times did you punch him?”

“Not enough.”

Regulus groans, deflating against the back of the bench. “Actually, I kinda hope it’s on TMZ.
I’ll have to record the episode so I can rewatch it a thousand times.”

“You’re objectifying me.”

“Uh huh. And it’ll get worse once I’ve watched that episode.” Regulus sets James’ palm back
on his cheek and leans in. His tongue darts out to flick over James’ lips. The shaky exhale in
response sends a warmth coiling low in his abdomen. “So we don’t have to go back?”

“Nope. We can do whatever we want.”

“And are you really as obsessed with me as you said?”

James’ hand, warm and gentle, slips into his curls to cradle the base of his skull, and Regulus
lets himself be pulled in closer. “Probably even more than I said, and it’s getting worse by the
second.”

“Prove it to me.”

The kiss sears right through him. It’s hungry, a little desperate. Exactly what he needs after
everything else carved a piece out of him. It tastes of champagne and cigarettes, and Regulus
moans into James’ open mouth when a hand curves around the underside of his thigh. It tries
to tug him closer, to urge him into James’ lap.

It terrifies him a little, how easily he melts into James. How the anxiety of the evening is still
there, but it doesn’t have to consume him. He doesn’t have to run from it. He can feel it for a
while, and then—this. He’s more aware than ever that he’s mid-freefall, tumbling head over
heels towards an unknown. But maybe, if James is falling with him, it won’t be so bad. He
might even survive it.

“We should—probably—get going,” James manages between kisses. Regulus is practically in

his lap, the hand hooked under Regulus’ thigh still urging him forward for more. “Not sure
what Italy’s laws are on public indecency.”

“We’re not doing anything indecent. Kissing isn’t indecent.”

James takes Regulus’ hand from his hair and presses it right over his groin. He’s half-hard,
beginning to strain against his trousers.

“Oh. Never mind,” Regulus says with a slight giggle and hiccup. He falls back against the
bench, grinning from ear to ear. “Leave the cigarettes, but bring the champagne. Oh, and the
lighter. That was a gift.”

James raises a questioning brow, but Regulus shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“You sure you want to leave the cigarettes? This is a good brand. You can only get it in Italy.”

“I know. But I don’t need them anymore. Come on.” Regulus gets to his feet and holds out
his hand. “How far is the hotel from here?”

“A fifteen minute walk, I think. It’s close. You were headed in the right direction.”

“Perfect. Because I think I drank too much champagne. I need to walk it off.”

James’ laugh is loud and bright, and it fills the too quiet, too empty space of the park. It fills
Regulus, too. He takes Regulus’ hand and gets to his feet, grabbing the bottle of champagne
as he goes. “I still can’t believe you stole this and just walked right out the front door.”

“They had plenty, and I needed it more. Also, that’s good champagne.”

“It is. We’ll finish it and order more later. How does that sound?”

Regulus turns so he can walk backwards, their joined hands held between them. “It sounds
perfect.” He bites his bottom lip, heat spreading through him when James’ gaze darkens.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs, low and deep.

“Really? I had no idea.”

James tugs him, and he stumbles forward, laughing fully, right into James’ broad chest. “You
know exactly what sort of effect you have on me. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

They’ve stopped walking. Instead, they stand in the middle of a narrow street—Regulus
looking up at James, and James looking back. He reaches to move an errant curl off Regulus’
forehead, then leans in to kiss him between his brows.
 “Oh, love,” he murmurs, and Regulus feels his smile grow. “The things I plan to do to you.
We’ve got all night now, you know.”

In response, Regulus loops his arms around James’ neck and kisses him. They stand there,
kissing in the middle of the road, until headlights turn the corner, a car honks, and James is
forced to pull away. He laces their fingers together and tugs Regulus along beside him in the
direction of their hotel.

Feeling fit to burst with too much anticipation and an unnamable thing, Regulus asks James
to bend his knees, then clambers onto his back.

“You want me to carry you like this the whole way to the hotel?” he asks, adjusting his grip
under Regulus’ knees while Regulus plugs the address into his phone. “I’m almost thirty,
love. I might break something.”

“Hush. You’re fine. Besides, it’s very good to warm up before you work out. That way you
don’t pull any muscles. I’m doing you a favor.”

“You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

Regulus nips at James’ ear, grinning, then buries his face in James’ neck. He keeps his arms
and legs wrapped tight around James, the champagne dangling from his fingertips. Despite
James’ initial protests, he carries Regulus with ease, following the little dot mapping their
progress on Regulus’ phone.

And for the first time in a long time, Regulus feels light as a feather.

Chapter End Notes

*jazz hands*

oh reggie, my most beloved of them all, i really do put you through the horrors 😔 so
anyway yeah, that cat is out of the bag! reggie has quite the tumultuous past, and he
does not like his brother. kinda hates him, in fact.

and before you drag me through the public square over it because blah blah sirius would
never, think about the nuances of the situation and how reggie felt at fourteen when his
big brother walked out with the promise to come get him and then never did. regardless
of why or what happened, regulus perceives the situation in a very particular way. it's
why he's bitter, angry, and really fucking sad. because he waited. and waited. and
waited, and sirius never came for him. even if he tried, he clearly didn't try hard enough
to regulus.

because it's regulus who is narrating this story, not some omniscient presence who can
put itself in sirius' shoes. regulus' perception of what happened is key to how he feels
about it as well as sirius. it's why he opted not to find his brother and made a new family
instead. he learned to stand on his own two feet and be on his own, albeit in a really
roundabout and not exactly good way. so yeah. his resentment runs deep. and sorry but
the black brothers angst isn't finished.

anyway, i hope you enjoyed :) the 'Angst' tag is there for a reason. i wasn't gonna do a
stripper baby au without a little drama. but don't worry, we earn that E rating in ch 9 —
and then some. so see you then <3
 i got a new man on me, it’s about to get sweaty
Chapter Summary

milan, part three

Chapter Notes

i don't usually do this, but this chapter has a very specific playlist (if that's your thing):
- "Boys Like You" — Tanerélle
- "Pretty Life" — Terrell Morris, Free n Losh
- "Love Is a Bitch" — Two Feet
- "Unforgettable" — French Montana, Swae Lee
- "obsessed" — zandros, Limi

and a special thank you to Alex for the art 🖤 enjoy... :)

Not even a knife could cut the tension filling every corner of the lift. Regulus might vibrate
out of his skin if James looks at him one more time. His gaze is too heated, too full of
promise, and Regulus’ heart leaps into his throat whenever it lands on him.

James leans against the back wall of the lift, arms and ankles crossed. He watches Regulus
with an amused expression, eyes burning behind his glasses. “Am I making you nervous,
love?” he asks, his tone too fucking sweet for him to not know exactly what he’s doing.

“No.” But it comes out all wrong. Regulus spins on his heel, turning away from James, and
scans his room key over the reader. The lift begins its steady rise to their suite on the topmost
floor. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know James still wears his signature crooked
grin.

“If you’re not nervous, why won’t you look me in the eye?” he teases.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”
“Because,” Regulus sputters, fidgeting with the bottle of champagne in his hands. He keeps
his gaze trained on the digital number above the door, watching it slowly go up, up, up.

Underneath his suit, he’s hot. Burning up and itching to take it all off so he can feel cool air
on his skin. The expensive linen is suddenly too rough. And all of it is made worse by James’
stare; it bores relentlessly into the spot between Regulus’ shoulder blades.

Since when did James have this much power and control over him? He’s never this nervous
with men. If anything, he’s the opposite. He doesn’t even feel anticipation most of the time.
Sex is a means to an end.

So why does he feel ready to crawl out of his skin from little more than a heated look?

You win, James.

Oh.

Well.

Fuck.

Fabric shifts behind him. He hears light, casual footsteps on pristinely polished floors. His
breath quickens at the press of James’ chest against his back, firm and solid. Teeth nibble on
his left ear, careful to avoid his piercings, and James’ low, throaty hum rumbles through him.

A strong hand circles his throat. Grips firm under his jaw to tilt his head back an inch, and it’s
a damn miracle his knees don’t hit the floor.

“Do you even know how lovely you are?” James’ breath blows hot over his ear. Deft fingers
undo the few buttons on his jacket to push it aside. They tug at his shirt, untucking it from his
waistband. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you the first night I saw you. I still can’t take my
eyes off of you.”

Regulus whines softly when James’ fingertips slip under his waistband. Heat radiates off the
man toying with him; he can feel it through his jacket, his shirt. He feels it through bone and
sinew and right down to his core.

“James,” he gasps when that damned hand slips lower still, “there are cameras in here. We
shouldn’t…”

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

Regulus’ silence is terribly loud.

“Thought so.” James’ thumb rests over where his pulse races under his skin. Is it obvious?
Can James feel him coming apart at the seams over this simple touch? “Let them watch.”
Another nip at his ear. Fingertips brushing back and forth over lace. “I’ll just ask them for the
footage later.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Regulus tries to steady his breathing, to feign some
semblance of control. James’ thumb rubs gently over his pulse point, the touch almost absent.
“The hotel owns the tape. They won’t give you anything.”

“Then I’ll buy the hotel.”

Regulus huffs a disbelieving laugh, but it sounds nervous even to his own ears. “Oh, of
course. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. It’s what most people would think to do.”

“You’re being very mouthy.”

“Not my fault you’ve left it empty.”

“Mm.” James’ thumb presses firmly into the underside of Regulus’ jaw. “For now.”

He can’t manage another witty retort. His focus narrows in on the wild pulse of his blood
under James’ thumb—it presses, a question, and in answer, Regulus leans into it. A wrecked
sound falls past his lips. There’s another soft laugh, a low rumble against his back.

“How do you want it, love? We could start gentle… Take it nice and slow?”

“No. I don’t want it nice.” Regulus tightens his hold on the neck of the champagne bottle. “I
hate it when it’s always nice.”

“Good,” James replies simply. “So do I.”

The lift stops, and the doors slide open to reveal their dimly lit suite.

Regulus doesn’t even think. He spins in James’ arms, grabs hold of his ridiculously
expensive tie, and yanks him out of the lift. They stumble, a mess of limbs in the second
before Regulus shoves him against the wall hard enough to shift a painting hung over the
credenza. James grunts, a wicked smile blooming just before Regulus crashes into him.

This kiss is explosive. It’s every teasing smirk and bright laugh and sultry promise. It’s every
wait, love and not yet, baby, every needy moan with Regulus’ name attached. He’s been
starving for James for too long, has waited and been so fucking good, but he’s had enough.

“Baby, the—” James is abruptly caught off when Regulus sucks on his tongue. He moans low
in his throat, hands firm at the small of Regulus’ back. But then he murmurs urgently, “Baby,
the—the champagne, it’s—Shit, that’s cold.”

Regulus pulls back, startled. A bit dazed, it takes a second for him to realize the champagne
bottle is lodged between James’ head and the wall. Too consumed by the heat of their kiss, he
didn’t notice the open bottle spilling sweet-smelling champagne all over James’ shoulders,
chest, and back.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Your suit… Fuck, I ruined it. I’m so—”

“It’s fine. I’ll get it cleaned. It’s just a suit.” James shrugs off his jacket and drops it to the
floor. His shirt clings to his shoulders, every hill and valley of shifting muscle on display.
James clocks the way Regulus stares, fixated on the soaked white linen clinging to his skin,
and rolls his eyes. “Quit objectifying me and come here.”

Regulus giggles into James’ mouth when he’s pulled forward by the rough hand in his hair.
Everything smells of champagne and Italian cigarettes, of sandalwood and citrus. James even
tastes sweet. His tongue rolls over Regulus’, playing with the metal bar run through it.

With one hand still occupied by the bottle, Regulus has no choice but to yank at James’ shirt.
He untucks it, tries to be nice about the buttons, but feels a sudden burn of frustration.
They’re in the way. All of it is in his way, keeping him from what’s underneath.

“Okay, now you’ve ruined a part of my suit,” James muses after Regulus rips at the front of
his shirt. It sends buttons bouncing all over the entryway’s marble floors.

“I don’t care anymore. Buy another.”

Regulus kisses him filthy before he can argue. He groans when James’ hand finds its way
between their bodies to yank at both of their belts. Regulus’ is undone in seconds, run
through the loops, then dropped unceremoniously to the floor. James manages to unbuckle
and toss his own aside in half the time.

He makes a noise like a contented sigh when his hand slips into Regulus’ trousers to grip his
ass. He kneads it, grinning like mad. Shoves Regulus’ trousers down for better access and
murmurs, “Fucking perfect.”

Their kisses are messy, all tongue, and Regulus isn’t sure he’s ever made sounds like this in
his life. Head spinning, he yanks at the knot of James’ tie. Gets the length of it wrapped
around his fist. It takes all of his willpower to shove at James’ chest, to force himself back.
Away. Out of James’ heated embrace.

“Baby, what—?”

Regulus takes one step back and then another. He toes off his Oxfords, kicking them to the
side. The bottle dangles from his fingertips, lighter now that over half of its contents drip
down James’ chest. In his other hand, a crimson tie dangles from his fingers.

“Love,” says James, eyes dark and glazed over, “where are you going?” He leans against the
wall, chest heaving, and watches Regulus continue to take steps towards their bedroom.

“Where do you think?” Regulus holds the tie between them, one brow quirked. He pulls his
bottom lip between his teeth, head slightly tilted. “Come on, daddy. You don’t really think I
made you buy this tie for an auction, do you?”

A muscle feathers in James’ jaw and like a puppet on a string, he follows.

“I have more for you,” Regulus says airily, slipping into the bedroom. “If you want it.”

James watches with narrowed eyes. “More what?”

“Do you want me to tell you or show you?”

“Show. Definitely show.”

Regulus sets the champagne down at the foot of the bed and drops James’ tie on the white
duvet. “Then wait here.”

He’s thankful he had the foresight to leave his garment bag hanging on the back of the
bathroom door. Not that he expected this, but maybe the universe did. Because there it is,
tucked between a light green jumper and pair of dark jeans—a glimpse of brilliant cherry red.

Through the closed door, he hears the hum of music turned down low. With James occupying
himself, Regulus has a little more time. He slips out of his suit and leaves it in a pile on the
bathroom floor, unconcerned. James’ is covered in champagne, anyway.

His shower is quick, but he scrubs at his skin until it pinkens. This moment with James
doesn’t deserve the nastier pieces of their evening. Instead, he lets it all swirl away down the
drain with a small smile on his face. He feels lighter when he twists the nozzle, and a hell of a
lot more like himself.

The lingerie he brought to Milan is slightly different than the one he teased James with these
last few weeks. The bottoms are the same—a G-string and garter belt attached to sheer, thigh
high black stockings—but the top is new. It’s a cropped, skin tight piece with no sleeves and
a high neckline. A diamond cutout exposes the skin between the hollow of his throat to
slightly above where his sternum ends.

He inhales deep to steady himself and stares at his reflection in the mirror. Red makes him
feel powerful. Unstoppable. Sexy. And isn’t that the point of it all? Though it’s always how
he feels with James; he’s not sure it has much to do at all with what he wears. Still, he can’t
deny he looks damn good in this.

With one more grounding breath, he opens the door slowly. The bedroom lights have been
dimmed, but the floor to ceiling windows give a stunning view of Milan. The cityscape
bathes everything in a soft golden glow. James’ tie still lays on the duvet where Regulus left
it, the champagne untouched on the carpet. On the other side of the bed, James fiddles with a
small stereo and his phone.

“Music?” asks Regulus, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Well, yeah. I thought it might set the—” James cuts himself off with a cough when he turns
and his gaze lands on Regulus. “Mood,” he finishes, wide-eyed. His throat bobs. “Gotta set
the…”

“You alright?”

“I’m—I’m processing. Pretty sure all of the blood in my brain just rushed south.”

Regulus fights a grin and pushes off the doorframe. He drops his arms so James can take it all
in properly. Which he does with blatant hunger, eyes darkening as the seconds tick past.
“Like what you see?” asks Regulus, crossing the room with deliberate steps. He’s careful to
keep them graceful. Fluid.
“Baby, you’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen,” James murmurs. He meets Regulus at
the foot of the bed and hooks a finger under his chin to tilt his face up once he’s within reach.
“Red is definitely your color.”

“Or is it just that red is your favorite?”

James grins crookedly. “Can’t it be a little bit of both?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be.”

Apparently, it’s the right answer. James kisses him softly, still smiling. It’s not as hurried and
frantic as before, though it’s no less heated. James keeps it slow even when it deepens.

Regulus melts into his chest, arms circling his neck to pull him closer. They exchange soft
noises, though most of them come from Regulus. James’ hands follow the curve of his waist,
the bend of his back, the swell of his ass. They’re everywhere and nowhere for long, fiddling
with the crop top’s hem, the garter belt. He even dips to hook his hand under Regulus’ thigh,
tugging his leg up to run a palm over the soft stockings clinging to his skin.

“These are my favorite,” James muses, plucking at the fabric. “Wear them always. For me?”

“I knew you had a stockings kink.”

“Is it that obvious?” James’ hands settle on his hips, urging him to twist. “Turn around, love.”

The why is on his tongue, but Regulus does as he’s told. Nervous anticipation builds in his
spine at James’ touch—a single fingertip traces the end of the tattoo over his vertebrae, then
slips lower to toy with the elastic of the G-string.

He can’t stand it anymore. “James, what are you—”

“Hush. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do,” he says, surprised by how much he truly means it. “But—”

“Then close your eyes.”

His breaths come in shaky inhales and shuddering exhales, but Regulus lets his eyes flutter
shut. He’s never handed over this much control during sex. He always maintains the upper
hand. Vulnerability like this is foreign to him. It’s more intimate than he expected; his skin
feels peeled away. Every touch is electric. Every short breath on his skin sends a shiver down
his spine.

There’s movement, but he can only guess what it is until gentle but firm hands slip down his
arms to his wrists. They’re tugged behind his back, one on top of the other, before James
works the silk tie through and around.

“Oh,” he breathes, realization dawning on him slowly. “Oh, that’s…”

“Okay?”
“Yeah. Yes. More than okay, it’s—Oh, God.”

James kisses his bare shoulder, noses over the soft fabric of his top, then hooks a finger in the
neckline to tug it aside. “Thought you might like that.”

“Is it that obvious?” Regulus echoes back, tilting his head to give James more access to the
line of his throat.

“No offense, love, but you’re a little easy for me to read.”

“I really hope you can back up that massive ego.”

James’ teeth graze his pulse. “On your knees.”

He doesn’t have it in himself to argue. Regulus eases to the floor, the carpet a plush cushion
under his knees. He sits back on his heels and watches James circle him. Delicate fingers trail
along his jaw. Then it’s a thumb pressed to the center of his bottom lip, and he takes the tip of
it between his teeth.

Their eye contact doesn’t break even when Regulus swirls his tongue languidly. James’ other
hand is busy tugging at his zipper, undoing buttons. He kicks his trousers off to the side.
Takes Regulus’ chin in the curl of his fingers and tugs, urging him forward and on his knees.

His gaze drops to the bulge in James’ briefs. “Fuck,” he breathes, breaking the heavy silence
as he takes in the outline of it. He’s felt it through James’ trousers enough times to know it
isn’t small, that James is packing plenty, but to see it like this, to have it so close and know
it’s his, has Regulus a little lightheaded.

“Eyes on me, love.”

Regulus flicks his gaze up but leans forward, unable to stop himself as the want takes over.
James is hot and unbearably hard under his lips. Everything here smells of him, of
sandalwood and citrus, and Regulus wets the cotton with his tongue, moaning low in his
throat.

His eyes roll back, fluttering shut again, but a sharp tug at his curls makes him yelp.

“Mírame.”

“But I—”

“Regulus.”

He looks up from under his lashes, his lips in a pout. “Is this better, daddy?”

“Mouthy.”

“Because it’s still empty.”

James’ eyes flash, and his jaw works to fight a wicked grin. “Fine,” he mutters, hooking a
thumb in the waistband of his briefs. “Open up if you wanna be filled so bad.”

Regulus wants to look down, to see in full what’s sprung free from James’ briefs, but he
keeps his eyes locked with James’ instead. Still, his mouth waters. It’ll be a surprise this way.
He’ll have to guess the girth and curve and length of it.

He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, laughing when James’ eyes zero in on it
immediately.

“I think this might kill me.” He presses two fingers to Regulus’ waiting tongue, gaze hazy
with lust. He fiddles with the piercing, makes a soft noise. “Open wider, love.”

Regulus’ heart slams against his ribs. Between his legs, his own cock aches and strains
against red lace. He’s desperate for friction, but he’ll let James decide when he gets to have it.
There’s something unexpectedly intoxicating about not knowing when it’ll come, when
James will allow him to ease the pressure.

James is heavy and hot on his tongue. It’s a salty-sweet taste, distinct and delicious. His moan
comes from deep in his chest, a surprise even to him. James’ fingers tighten in his curls at the
sound. The hold prevents him from pushing forward to swallow James to the root.

“Take it slow, baby,” he murmurs, thumbing Regulus’ cheekbone gently.

He doesn’t know how to tell James he’s so fucking thrilled he could die right here, right now
—with his hands tied behind his back and James easing down his throat inch by inch. He
relaxes, breathes through his nose, and James slips in further without resistance. It earns him
a fractured moan, a breathy god, your throat is perfect.

It isn’t until Regulus’ nose brushes coarse, tight curls that James stills. He sets a hand against
Regulus’ throat and, with agonizing slowness, shifts his hips back. Pushes forward. Back
again, then forward.

“Holy shit,” he manages, staring down at Regulus who stares up at him with half-lidded eyes.
“I can feel my—Fuck. Your mouth is magic.”

Regulus’ eyes water, but he refuses to tap out. He won’t. Not when James is looking at him
like this—with awe and open wonder. With enough desire to fill every corner of the room. He
swirls his tongue around the head of James’ cock when he pulls almost entirely out of his
mouth, only to push slowly down his throat again.

But the next time James pulls out, Regulus croaks, “More. Harder. I don’t care. Just—more.”

“But if it’s too rough, I need you to have some way to tell me. And your hands…”

“How about if it’s too rough, I crush your toes under my knee?”

James rolls his eyes, but nods once. “Brat. But it’ll have to do.”

“It’s fine. I won’t need it.”

“Oh?”

Regulus smiles with all of his teeth, then sticks out his tongue again in invitation. “Promise.
Come on, papi. Show me what you’ve got.”

It’s a challenge. It always is.

And oh, does it fucking work.

James is down his throat in a heartbeat, but this time, he doesn’t bother with gentle strokes he
eases into. This time, it’s long, deep thrusts, and Regulus feels the moment James’ control
snaps. He lets his eyes roll back, tears clumping his lashes together just before they fall from
the corners.

Wetness trails down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. He’s a mess. He knows he is. But he
wants to be, because James is telling him it’s criminal how gorgeous you are and you take me
so fucking well and god, baby, you’re so good at this. The praise makes him desperate to
please more. It makes his moans louder, throatier, and James swears low under his breath.

There’s spit on Regulus’ chin and tears on his cheeks, but it isn’t enough. Wanton desperation
blooms behind his ribs. More, more, more, he thinks, even though he’s not sure what it is he
wants more of.

“I’m—Shit,” James hisses in sudden panic. He pulls out of Regulus’ mouth, fingers circled
tight around the base of his cock. His eyes are shut, his chest heaving. “Almost came,” he
rasps, shuddering.

Regulus licks his swollen lips; they taste of James. “That’s okay.” God, his voice is wrecked.
“You can come, daddy. If you want.”

“No.” James shakes his head vehemently. “Not until you do.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not! It is sweet.”

“Brat.”

Regulus gasps, feigning offense. “Me? No, never. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Mouthy—again.”

“Because it’s empty—again.”

James’ eyes snap open, full of fire. He yanks Regulus’ head back with the hand still gripping
his curls, growls, “Open,” and pushes past Regulus’ lips with a sharp thrust.
He loses himself in the feel of James fucking his throat with reckless abandon. His mind is
entirely blank, too focused on keeping his body relaxed so James can use it. He squirms
every so often, aware in the brief seconds James lets him breathe that he’s aching, but then
James fills his mouth and he’s gone. It’s the first time he’s ever let a man have him like this;
he’s never given himself over so fully.

And he fucking loves it.

“Shit, shit, damn it,” James hisses, startled. He pulls out of Regulus quickly. A string of spit
and precum connects the tip of James’ cock to his lips, but when he tries to chase it, James
yanks at his hair. “Holy hell, baby. What are you?”

“Needy. Give it back.”

James laughs in disbelief. He’s flushed, eyes wide and a bit wild. “I can’t. I need—I need a
sec. Several, maybe. Or I’ll come.”

“And?”

“Not yet. I told you.”

Regulus settles back on his heels with a disgruntled sigh. His gaze lingers on James’ length—
thick, long, curved upward. Swollen and red, spit-slicked. He squirms, wrists rubbing
together, and glares up at James. “You’re a fucking tease.”

“I—” James laughs again, clearly taken aback. “Trust me, it’s taking all of my self-control
not to finish all over your pretty face right now.”

“Then do it.”

“Dios mío, baby. You’re bossy for someone with their wrists tied.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue, scowling. “Come on, daddy. Let me keep going. Please?”

“I deserve an award for how many times I’ve told you no because it’s fucking hard. Come
on, love. On your feet.”

Still pouting, Regulus lets James help him up. He’s dizzy, a little lightheaded from the lack of
oxygen, but he steadies when James kisses him gently. It’s almost reverent, the way James’
hands bracket his face, thumbs gentle over his cheekbones.

He wipes at the tears collected in the corners of Regulus’ eyes, murmuring, “You’re always
so good for me. Aren’t you?”

“Mm,” Regulus hums, nuzzling into James’ palm. He cants his hips forward with a soft
whine. “Touch me. Please. Give me that at least.”

James rests their foreheads together and looks down. He tugs at the front of Regulus’ G-
string, whistling low. “It’s pretty untouched, though. So pink and shiny.”
“James.”

“Yeah, I don’t answer to that right now.” James lets the elastic snap back, and Regulus hisses
a litany of curses under his breath, glaring. James smacks his ass lightly, nodding to the bed.
“Go on.”

The mattress shifts under Regulus’ weight. The duvet is pristine and smooth, all of its corners
tucked in, but his knees ruin it with slight divots. He whimpers when James’ hand splays
between his shoulder blades to push him forward until his cheek rests on soft, expensive
linen.

We’re going to ruin these, he thinks, closing his eyes. Absently, he adds a nonsensical I’m
sorry for the hotel. He can only imagine how much this bedding cost.

His fingers twitch at the base of his spine, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs. The
lingerie barely holds him, the front of it damp. He tries to slide his knees wider, to use his
flexibility to his benefit and get the friction he craves, but James’ hands come out of nowhere
to grip his hips—hard.

“None of that,” James says, almost cheery, with another light smack to Regulus’ ass.

He squirms against the crimson tie, silk sliding over his skin. He’s hauled back up on his
knees, grumbling into the mattress. It dips with James’ weight. Regulus wishes he could turn
his head to look over his shoulder; he can’t see what James is doing. James isn’t even
touching him, though Regulus can feel the heat emanating off of his body.

“James…?”

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you.”

Regulus opens his mouth to reply, but what comes out is a startled squeak. He jerks, knees
slipping on the smooth linen underneath him. Cold liquid trails down the curve of his ass, the
back of his thigh. Just before it can reach the hem of his stockings, there’s silky, wet heat, and
Regulus swears.

Champagne, he realizes.

James has poured champagne over him, and now he’s following the rivulets with his tongue.
He does it again, the mixed sensation of cold and hot making Regulus wriggle under his
ministrations.

“Oh, my God,” Regulus moans into the duvet, only to say it again in a rushed stream when
James pours champagne down the back of his other thigh.

But this time, James follows it over the curve of his ass to the dimples at the base of his
spine. His chest heaves with stuttering breaths when a wet tongue drags down the cleft of his
ass and over cherry red elastic. James’ laugh at his high-pitched, needy sound is a rush of
warm breath.
James does it again, and again, and again, until Regulus shivers underneath him, and not
from the champagne’s icy chill. With each pour, each trail he follows with his tongue, James
dips closer and closer to Regulus’ entrance. He’s fairly certain the G-string’s elastic is soaked
through with champagne and spit, but still James stops short, pulls away, and starts again.

Regulus swears filthy each time James starts anew. He tries to shift his hips, to spread his
knees, but James’ hand comes down hard on his ass with a sharp crack.

“I’m not done. Stay.”

“You’re a fucking tease,” Regulus snaps back, struggling against the vice grip James
maintains on his ankle. “Is there even any champagne left?”

“A little.”

Regulus whines, face buried in the duvet, when the now familiar chill hits his skin again. But
his whine turns into a moan when finally, finally, the tip of James’ tongue drifts featherlight
over his hole. It’s not nearly enough, but he thrashes anyway. He pushes his hips back,
searching, but James is already gone.

“Needy little thing,” he murmurs, running his hand up the line of Regulus’ calf, his thigh,
over his ass. “Self-control isn’t my strength, but patience is definitely not yours.”

Regulus jolts when James’ hand comes down again. His skin is sticky with dried champagne
and wet with spit. All he can manage is a broken, desperate, “Papi, please.”

It breaks whatever hold James had regained on his self-control.

He hooks one finger in the soaked red elastic to pull it aside, then licks a lazy, wet strip over
Regulus’ hole. The tip of his tongue circles Regulus’ rim over and over. Until he relents,
flattens his tongue, and Regulus thrashes hard enough James drops the empty champagne
bottle on the floor to grip his hips and hold him steady.

“Inside,” he begs, pushing back against James’ face.

James, who grips his thighs with thumbs tucked into the underside of his ass to spread him
wide. James, whose tongue works absolute fucking magic. He spits once, twice, before
pressing his thumb against the tight ring of muscle and whispering, “Open for me.”

Regulus melts as much as he can into the mattress when James finally pushes into him. He’s
craved it for so long his body doesn’t even put up much of a fight. “Another,” he croaks. “I
can take it. Another, daddy, please.”

“I know you can take it, but I’m taking my time.” James’ breath blows hot over Regulus’
spit-slicked hole. He licks at it again, dips the tip of his tongue inside, and Regulus has to
bury his face completely in the duvet to keep from crying out.

James works him open slowly. It’s torturous, though he’s starting to think that’s the whole
point. James all but devours him. Spit drips down the inside of his thighs, soaks his lingerie.
Not that it matters—he’s already soaked the lace front of it. James still hasn’t touched him,
and his desperation is beginning to break him down his center.

He’s so fragile that the first brush of James’ fingers, crooked inside and pressed down, makes
him sob. James does it again, circles his tongue and presses, rubbing his fingertips back and
forth and—

“James,” Regulus gasps in warning at the sudden tightness in his stomach, the fire low in his
spine. “James, I—I’m gonna—”

It’s a pointed smack to his ass, fingers dug into his flesh.

Regulus grits his teeth. Forces his scattered brain cells to collect together so he can say,
“Daddy, I’m gonna come if you—right there.”

Rather than relent, James eases a third finger in to the last knuckle. The stretch aches, a slight
burn, but it doesn’t last for long. He leans over Regulus, bends his fingers just right, and says,
“You can come, baby. It’s okay. I want you to come for me now, and then you’ll come again
on my cock.”

“Oh, God,” is all Regulus manages before his orgasm slams into him with all the finesse of a
freight train. Through the haze of pleasure, he realizes James has tugged the lingerie aside,
down around his thighs. A strong hand strokes him gently, and just like that—stars explode
behind his eyes.

Regulus’ entire body shakes from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. He spills into
James’ waiting palm, hears good boy, that’s it, and thinks his brain may no longer be a
functioning part of his body. There’s nothing in it but white noise.

He’s still shivering with aftershocks when James’ fingers leave him empty. He whines, too
out of it to beg properly. James ignores him, busy unclipping the garter, sliding the lingerie
off and tossing it aside. He leaves the stockings, the top.

Regulus hisses at sticky warmth dripping down the cleft of his ass. Suddenly, James pushes
two fingers into him again and—oh. He flushes hot and buries his face in the duvet when he
realizes it’s his own cum that James spreads to slicken him further.

It’s terrible, really, how much he wants this man to break him into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Eres tan hermoso,” he hears James murmur before teeth graze the swell of his ass. “Mm, te
quiero comer… Every little bit. Until there’s nothing left of you. What do you think?”

“I have no idea what you said.” Regulus rests his forehead against the mattress, eyes
squeezed tightly shut.

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

Regulus opens his mouth to argue, but James’ heavy, hard length slides through the cleft of
his ass, and all of his words die on his tongue. James rubs his cock through a mess of spit and
cum, hissing when the thick head catches on Regulus’ rim.
“Ready, love?”

“Yeah,” he croaks. “I’m—I’m good.”

“I just know you’re gonna take me like a fucking dream,” James murmurs, running his hands
all over Regulus’ ass and lower back.

There’s no response in the English or French languages that Regulus can think of. He’s lost,
floating above the bed yet so grounded in his bones that he feels everything. He inhales
sharply when James eases into him; it’s only an inch, but he swears low, shuddering.

“C’mere.” James reaches to take hold of his biceps and pulls him up so they’re almost back
to chest. His bound wrists keep them slightly apart, but James’ arms still manage to circle his
waist. The angle pushes him deeper. “Fuck, baby, I—God. You’re so tight and hot.”

“More,” Regulus demands despite the ache. “More, daddy, come on.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I can take it. It’s—”

James bottoms out with a sound that’s part groan, gasp, and growl all in one, and Regulus is
suddenly so full he chokes. Three fingers were not enough to prepare him for this; he
breathes steadily, forcing himself to relax every muscle and take.

“There you go,” James says into his shoulder when his muscles ease to pull James in. “Do
you have any idea how long I’ve thought about this exact moment?” He peppers Regulus’
neck and shoulder with kisses. Circles a hand around his throat under his jaw. “But this? The
real thing? Fucking incredible. You are incredible.”

Regulus closes his eyes with a contented sigh. James thrusts into him shallow and slow,
swearing again.

“I need to—I need to know if you still want it rough, or if you’ve changed your mind,” James
says through gritted teeth. “We don’t have to, if it’s too much. I can—”

“No. I told you I can take it. It’s not too much.” Regulus’ back arches to make room for his
bound hands. He itches to touch, shoulders aching, but says, “Fuck me like you mean it,
papi.”

James inhales a shuddering breath. “Oh, dios mío. I’m gonna—Okay, baby. Okay.”

It’s all the warning James gives him before he pulls out just to slam back in hard enough
Regulus feels it in his stomach, his teeth. He cries out, equal parts startled and thrilled. James
doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause or falter, and Regulus catches himself grinning from ear to ear.

James fucks into him with constructed chaos, one hand gripped tight around his waist while
the other holds his throat. He doesn’t squeeze, careful not to lose control where it matters, but
the promise is there. And Regulus has never been so fucking full, so possessed. His insides
are molten, threatening to spill over.
“God, you take me so perfect,” he hears James say; it draws him back into his body and down
from the pleasure haze. “So wet and hot and tight, baby. Better than I even imagined.”

Regulus preens from the praise. The fingers digging into his skin will bruise; he can feel how
James hangs on a little tighter with each thrust. And because he’s figured out what it is that
makes James tick, he goes for the jugular. Lets honey drip from every word when he says,
“No one fills me like you do, daddy. No one feels as good as you.”

“Fuck,” James groans, hips stuttering before his rhythm settles again. “Keep talking like that
and I’ll come.”

“Inside, right?”

“I shouldn’t—”

“I’ve never let anyone else do it,” continues Regulus, voice still saccharine. James’ rhythm
stutters again, and he knows he’s won. “It’s only you, anyway. I promise. I don’t want anyone
else.”

James slams into him and stills, forehead dropped into the curve of his shoulder. “You’re
doing this on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“I—Damn it, I should’ve asked. If you—But I just want you so bad. I wasn’t thinking, and
—”

“You have me.” Regulus wriggles his hips, all of him aching now that James has stopped. It
earns him a low groan, and before he can process, James has pulled out of him and flipped
him on his back. He yelps, bound hands smarting when his whole weight lands on his wrists.

But then James has his hips pulled up off the bed, is easing back into him with a guttural
moan, and Regulus grins with all of his teeth. James looks as wrecked as he feels—flushed,
golden skin sweat-slicked and radiating heat, curls stuck to his forehead.

“Hi,” Regulus says softly, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s suddenly shy under
James’ gaze. It pins him, like a butterfly with its wings spread, and his breath hitches in his
throat.

“Hi, baby.” James leans over him, cups his cheek, kisses him slow and deep. He moans into
it, and James swallows the sound eagerly. “God, you look so thoroughly fucked right now.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue, giggling when James licks at it with his own. “I wonder why.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re not done yet. Brief intermission.” James sits back on his haunches, hoists
Regulus’ ankles over his shoulders, and gives no warning before he’s moving hard and fast
again. His fingers dig into Regulus’ hips to hold them up, to keep him from shifting away.

Not that he would if he could. He holds the duvet in a vice grip underneath him even with his
wrists bound. Withered sounds rip from his throat with each harder, deeper thrust. They’re
steady, and he feels each one in his teeth.

When James slows to kiss him, to suck bruises into his throat and murmur praise all the
while, Regulus realizes that this—something he’s always found too intimate—feels better
than anything he’s ever had. And he loves it. Loves the way James can kiss his lips and chest
and the inside of his thighs. Loves the way he’s on display and every inch is cherished
regardless.

He catches glimpses of James’ tattoo as he moves, the sharp tips and edges of it shifting over
hard muscle, but James moves too fast for him to make out details. Besides, Regulus is too
delirious to make any sense of what it is he’s looking at.

James adjusts the angle of his hips, and Regulus cries out with the sudden shock of it.
Pleasure rips through him. “So pretty, baby,” James murmurs into the inside of his thigh. He
hits the same spot, each thrust deliberate. “Come if you want. I’m close.”

“Then don’t stop,” is all Regulus can manage as his vision blurs. He wants to ask James to
touch him, but he’s not sure he’ll need it. James is good at this; he knows what he’s found
and keeps at it. Understands harder doesn’t mean faster, and yes, right there means don’t you
dare fucking change what you’re doing.

Regulus’ orgasm creeps up on him until it doesn’t, and suddenly he’s hurtled towards the
edge faster than he can process. He comes with a strangled shout, fire rushing through him
right to his toes and fingertips. His throat is hoarse from too much use and abuse, but
somewhere in it all, he says James’ name. Says it again and again, until James kisses him
silent.

The kiss loses rhythm along with James’ hips. He sinks his teeth into the taut muscle of
Regulus’ shoulder, shudders, and spills deep inside him with a broken groan. It’s a warmth
sudden and foreign; he didn’t lie to James—he never lets anyone have this. And maybe, if
tonight had been different, he wouldn’t have let James have it, either.

But even through the haze of all the pleasure, he remembers: I think I’m going to end up
falling in love with you.

He can’t be as honest and open with his words, but he hopes, somehow, James understands.
It’s in the way he runs his fingers through sweaty curls after James undoes the knot binding
his wrists. It’s in the way he kisses James lazy and soft in the aftermath, ankles crossed at his
lower back to hold him deep as their bodies come together.

Stay, please, stay close to me, he wants to say. He just doesn’t know how.

“Feels nice,” James murmurs, closing his eyes while Regulus continues to run fingers
through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Really good.” Regulus moves to run his nails gently up and down James’ back.
“You?”

“Can’t really think yet.”

Regulus laughs softly. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

It’s a few more minutes of this before James pulls out of him with a hiss. He flops on his
back, an arm pillowed under his head and his eyes dazed. His glasses are slightly askew.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, running a hand over his face and up under his glasses. “That
was…”

Regulus rolls onto his stomach and rests his chin on his fist. “Worth the wait?”

“And then some. Shit.” James grins, chuckling, and stretches his arms above his head. He
laughs harder when he catches Regulus watching him shamelessly. “You’re objectifying me
again.”

“I’m convinced you were made to be objectified. It’s not my fault.”

James settles with his arm under his head again and reaches out to flick Regulus’ nose gently.
“We should shower. We reek of sex and champagne.”

“Walking to the shower sounds terrible.”

“Aha.” James’ grin stretches wide, and he shifts to lie on his side, cheek resting on his fist.
“Sorry, are you telling me your legs don’t work? Is this the same man who said, and I quote,
‘Guys like you aren’t even that great in bed. All bark and no bite.’”

Regulus gapes at him. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget it? That was the night I knew I wanted you so bad I’d do anything to
have you.” James shrugs one shoulder, smiling wider. “I’ve never had anyone look me in the
eye over dinner and say they think I have a big dick that I don’t know how to use. It was…
weirdly hot. Like a compliment and insult rolled into one.”

“Oh, my God. You’re—You’re ridiculous.”

“So? Be honest with me, baby. Do I know how to use it or not?” James snickers when
Regulus shoves his shoulder. “Oh, come on. Humor me. I’m asking so nicely.”

“As if you need your ego stroked.”

James winks, and Regulus fights the urge to put him in a chokehold. “It only matters if it’s
you, though. I like to know what you’re thinking.” He pushes up on his elbow to loom over
Regulus, one brow quirked. Regulus falls back on the bed, breath stuttering at the gentle
touch of a hand on his outer thigh. “You should wear stockings more often. Your legs are so
lovely.”

“Stop,” he mutters, a blush high on his cheeks. “You’re being sweet because you want your
ego fed.”

“Never. I’m being sweet because I want to eat you up.” James ducks his head, burying his
face in Regulus’ neck. “Mm. Smells like…sex.”
“Oh, come off it.” Regulus shoves at James’ chest, scowling when he laughs loud and bright.
He’s practically cackling, clearly pleased. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and
gets to his feet, stretching again—and it puts his entire tattoo is on display. “Oh.”

James looks over his shoulder, expression quizzical. “Hm?”

“Your tattoo. It’s…”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot you haven’t seen it.” James sits back down and pats his shoulder for
Regulus to shuffle over. “Stag antlers.”

“A strange choice,” Regulus murmurs, running his fingers over the delicate linework. The
antlers branch out from mid spine, the tips curved around his shoulders. They’re lifelike,
incredibly detailed, with flowers on a vine wrapped around where they meet. “Why?”

James lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you someday,
yeah? I was young when I got it, though. I barely remember.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.” Regulus traces over the tattoo a little while longer before James braces
his hands on his knees and pushes to his feet.

“Alright. Shower. Let’s go, love.”

Regulus drops his hand between his thighs, pouting. “Carry me. My legs are sore.”

“Oh, hell. The drama.” James rolls his eyes, but still waves a hand for Regulus to shift so he
can pick him up properly. “Come on, Princess. Your shower awaits.”

“Princess?” asks Regulus with a tilt of his head.

James blinks, brow furrowed. “Oh. Just kinda…slipped out. You don’t like it? I’m sorry, I
didn’t—”

“It’s fine.” Regulus’ stomach swoops when James hooks an arm around his waist and hauls
him off the bed. His legs wrap around James’ middle easily. “I like it. ‘Princess.’ It’s… Yeah.
I like it. We’ll talk about it another day, but it’s fine. Call me whatever.”

James gives him an odd look but doesn’t press. He carries Regulus into their bathroom and
sets him on the edge of the ridiculously large tub. While he fiddles with nozzles until hot
water sprays out, Regulus rolls the stockings off his legs and pulls the tight top over his head.

“I love it, by the way,” James says, nodding to the discarded lingerie. “The whole set was
incredible. I probably should’ve appreciated it more, but…”

“It’s not the only one I brought.” Regulus gets to his feet and follows James into the shower.
It’s more than big enough for two people, and water hits from almost every angle. Whatever
nozzle James found, it’s definitely not the one Regulus twisted earlier. “I have more at home,
too.”
James groans, rolling his shoulders under the spray. “Will you show them to me? When we’re
back in London?”

“Maybe.”

“Hey.”

“Yes,” Regulus says with a laugh. Hot water washes over him, loosening his muscles. His
thighs ache, and his shoulders are sore. He leans into it, though. “I’ll show you all of it, if you
want.”

“Oh, I want. I very much want.”

James pulls him close, an arm around his waist and a hand cupping his jaw. They kiss lazily
under the shower spray; there’s no real purpose to it except that they can. Music still plays in
the bedroom, low and bass-heavy. It’s a while before James pulls back and reaches over
Regulus’ head for the body wash and a loofah.

He hums, content, when James scrubs gently at his skin. His head falls back, a small smile
playing on his lips. “Feels good,” he murmurs, lifting each arm for James to scrub from wrist
to shoulder.

“Definitely a princess,” mutters James, though there’s no bite in it. He’s gentle with the
loofah over Regulus’ chest, careful not to snag the piercings in his nipples. Then it’s down
over his abdomen, around his waist. “Turn, baby.”

He braces his hands on the shower wall while James scrubs the back of his neck, between his
shoulders, down his spine.

“Your tattoo,” James says, fingertips tripping over each vertebrae. “What does it mean?”

Regulus swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “It’s… It’s for Sirius.” He drops his
head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “When we were growing up, he had this crazy fascination
with space. We’re named after stars. His is in Canis Major, and mine is in Leo. He thought it
was the coolest thing. Anyway, I wanted our constellations, but I—I couldn’t. It was too
much.”

“So you chose the solar system?”

“Something like that. I picked his favorite planets. He always liked the sun, too. He thought it
was cool the whole galaxy rotated around it. There are a few stars for us. Nothing particular,
but… Yeah.”

James hangs the loofah back on its hook. “When did you get it?”

“A few years ago. But it’s a story for another day.” Regulus straightens, rolling his shoulders.
He steps back into James’ chest and drops his head against his shoulder. Their skin is
slippery. Everything smells of citrus. “You know,” he says with a teasing lilt, “it was only
twice.”
James nibbles on his ear, and there’s a questioning grumble against his back.

“You told me once you’d make me come three times…”

“Ah. That.” James grips his hips to spin him, presses his back to the wall and gets strong
hands under his thighs. He yelps in surprise when he’s lifted off the ground and held up
against the cold tile. James’ arms hook under his knees, his hold strong despite their slippery
skin. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“I vaguely remember it,” Regulus hedges. It’s punctuated with a gasp when the head of
James’ cock eases into him, guided by a steady hand. “Oh, fuck. God, that feels good.”

James ducks his head to nose at Regulus’ curls, lips on his ear when he whispers, “You know,
you’re still full of my cum. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“No. No,” Regulus moans, head falling back against the shower wall. “Definitely not. Please,
James, I—”

“Come on, love. That’s not what you call me when you’re like this.”

Regulus whimpers at the slow drag of James’ cock against his rim. It’s a slight burn until the
mess coating his insides eases the slide—and then he’s done for. “Yes, yes, yes,” he mumbles,
already incoherent. “More, daddy, please.”

“Better. You’re learning.”

It’s a heady mix of rough and gentle when James gets going, his hands braced on the shower
wall to hold Regulus aloft. He whispers a string of praise in his ear. Alternates between
kissing him with tongue and teeth, and sucking bruises into his neck.

It takes less time than Regulus expected for him to feel the telltale warmth in his spine, the
tightening in his gut. He reaches between them to take his own length in hand, stroking
gently but losing rhythm when James finds what he’s looking for. Regulus breaks like a wave
on the shore and comes with his eyes wide open, shivering despite the heat of the water
hitting them both.

“Beautiful,” James murmurs, burying himself to the hilt before he stills.

Regulus ducks his head, face pressed into James’ neck and a low moan in his throat. He
might become addicted to this intimacy, the need. He considers admitting it out loud, but
before he gets the chance, the shower runs suddenly cold and James yelps.

“We’ve been in here too long,” he muses, pulling out of Regulus and setting him gently on
his feet. “My fingers are all wrinkly. Look.”

“I believe you.” Regulus bats James’ hand away, grinning despite himself.

James shrugs on a bathrobe and ties the sash around his middle when they step out of the
shower stall. “Want something to eat? I can order room service. I think they serve until
midnight.”
“Do you think they can bring me chocolate cake?”

“Huh?” James pauses in the doorway to shoot an incredulous look over his shoulder. “You
want chocolate cake? At midnight?”

Regulus glares, tying his own sash. “Problem?”

“No. No, it’s just random. But whatever you want. I’ll call them.”

Their room service arrives shortly before midnight. James ordered pasta and bread for
himself and a single slice of chocolate cake for Regulus. They settle on the couch together—
James at one end with his plate on a tray, and Regulus at the other with his legs pulled close
to his chest. He balances the plate of chocolate cake on his knees, grinning with each bite.

“Ridiculous,” James mutters with a laugh and shake of his head. “That’s not even real food!”

“It’s good,” argues Regulus, taking another bite. “Plus, I like sweets after really good sex.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. But this is the first time in a long, long time that I’ve craved chocolate cake after
sex.” Regulus grins with the fork between his teeth, chuckling when James shoots him a sour
look. “Why the face? It’s a compliment.”

James’ scowl deepens. “Do you know how much it took out of me to stay calm when you
told me you were fucking Colin?”

“Connor.”

“Baby,” he warns.

“Sorry.” Regulus stabs his cake again, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
The chocolate is rich, but not too much. “I mean it, though. About sweets after sex. That’s as
much ego stroking as I’ll do.”

James snorts. “How thoughtful.”

“And you? How’s your pasta?”

“Good. Italians do it best.” James swirls noodles around his fork, adds, “And it’s replenishing
my strength.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll need the energy. Did you think we were done?”

Regulus blinks several times, stomach flipping. His heart skips at the crooked, devilish way
James grins at him.

“It’s cute you thought we were.”

“So is that how the rest of our weekend will go?” Regulus stretches out one leg to slip his toe
under the hem of James’ robe. “Just food and fucking?”

“Among other things. But finish your cake.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a little while, breaking it here and there to chat until
James has finished his pasta and Regulus declares he’s done with his cake. He settles back
against the cushions with his feet in James’ lap. James rubs at the arches, snickering when he
moans with as much pleasure as when James was inside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asks James after some time. He runs his knuckle down
Regulus’ arch. “Your parents, I mean. The shit that happened earlier.”

He doesn’t, but at the same time, he does. James asks with a genuine mix of care and
curiosity. Something about it prompts Regulus to say, “Maman is scared.” He’s surprised at
his own honesty, at how easily the admission slips out. “I know…things. About our family.
The business. I wasn’t supposed to ever find out, but I was in the right place at the right
time.”

James continues running his knuckles up and down the arch of Regulus’ foot, waiting.

“I—I need to know you won’t say a word,” whispers Regulus, heart in his throat. “About any
of it. I trust you, I do, but…”

“I promise. But is it really that bad?”

Regulus inhales deep into his lungs. On the exhale, he says, “Embezzlement.”

James stills. “I’m sorry?”

“Embezzlement. Money laundering. Insider trading…” Now that it’s coming out, he can’t
stop it. He stares up at the high ceilings even though he doesn’t really see them. The words
pour out of him and with each one, a weight lifts. “All of it. Tax evasion. Shit with hedge
funds. But embezzlement is the main one. And I—I could bring it all down, James. Destroy
the entire Black line. Lestranges, too. Malfoys, I’m sure.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Baby, that’s… That’s serious shit.”

Regulus closes his eyes with a sigh. “I think it’s why they want me to come home even more
than Sirius. He was already gone by the time I learned what they were up to. I’m sure Maman
thinks if they bring me back in and treat me nicely, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“It could involve you, though.”

“I know.”
“What did she promise you? Tonight at the auction, she promised something, didn’t she?”

“Mhm. But nothing really. She’s always hated that I’m queer, so her offer was to let you into
the family.”

James snorts sardonically. “How thoughtful of her.”

“I won’t let it happen. I’m not going back. For myself, and for you. They’d find some way to
wrap you up in it all. Implicate you in their schemes either willingly or unwillingly. They
don’t care about permission.”

After a long silence, James asks, “Will you do it? Tear it all down?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s been five years since I left. I found out a couple weeks beforehand. My
dad beat the hell out of me for snooping.” He lets James tug him down the couch to rub his
calves next. “It’s a bit of a trip, though. To hold this over them. I’m sure it keeps Maman
awake at night.”

“Do you think they’re still doing it all?”

“Oh, definitely. They weren’t ashamed of it. Papa even offered to teach me how. I just left
before he could.”

James sucks his teeth, fingers kneading Regulus’ calves absently. “Well, if you ever want to
take them down, I’ll help you do it. That’s a promise.”

“Maybe someday,” Regulus says softly, still staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t tell James
that he’s held onto this secret because it feels wrong to tear the entire family down without
Sirius. It’s partly his fortune, too, even if he may not want it any more than Regulus does.

But that would require talking to his brother, which he will not do. It’s easier to make excuses
if he doesn’t know where Sirius is. Then he doesn’t have to admit out loud that he’s terrified
to face his big brother after all that’s happened since he watched Sirius walk out.

“Are you okay with it though?” asks James, yanking him from his thoughts. “If you and I are
together, it’s inevitable we’ll run into them. I can avoid most events, but… The ones I have to
attend, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to see them. I can’t predict when they’ll
show up.”

“No, I’ve run long enough. They know where I am. They’ve known for a long time, it seems.
So I might as well do what I want. Be with who I want. If I have to see them, then so be it.”
Quietly, he adds, “But I’d rather face them with you there than alone.”

James’ hand squeezes his shin, then moves to the inside of his thigh. “But you know you
don’t have to, right? See them, I mean. It can be on your terms.”

“I know. But I’ll be okay.” Regulus shifts, gets his legs underneath him and shuffles across
the couch to bracket James’ hips with his knees. He settles in James’ lap and pushes the robe
open to expose his chest. “Thank you, though,” he murmurs, taking James’ face between his
hands to kiss him soundly. “For understanding. And listening. But please don’t tell. Not until
I’m ready.”

“I won’t. That’s your secret. Not mine.”

They kiss for a while, talking softly about everything and nothing. It’s well past midnight
when James loops his arms around Regulus’ waist and gets to his feet. They leave their
plates, wander out of the living room, and fall into bed in a messy tangle of limbs.

It’s more kissing, more wandering hands, until James fumbles around on the nightstand for
the tiny bottle Regulus set aside earlier. He lets James take him apart with gentle, coaxing
fingers. It’s surprisingly tender, and James swallows every sound he makes.

After, Regulus lies with his head on James’ chest, tracing patterns with the tip of his finger. “I
might wake up at a weird time. I don’t usually sleep through the night.”

“S’Fine,” James says, yawning. He pulls off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. His
arm loops around Regulus’ shoulders to hold him close, fingertips trailing delicately up and
down his bicep. “Just wake me up if you can’t sleep.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t sleep much either.”

It doesn’t take long for James to drift off to sleep. The rise and fall of his chest evens out, and
his breathing deepens. The arm around Regulus’ shoulder slackens, but it doesn’t fall away.
For a while, he worries his insomnia will rear its ugly head and he won’t sleep at all, even
here in the warmth of James’ embrace.

But for the first time in a long, long time, Regulus’ thoughts aren’t racing. He wonders—
about his parents, his brother, this thing he and James are nurturing—but nothing takes over.
His mind is…quiet.

Delightfully, blissfully, beautifully quiet.

And between one blink and the next, Regulus drifts off to sleep with an arm around James’
middle and their legs tangled together beneath the sheets.
 now it’s back to the intro, back to the bar
Chapter Notes

happy birthday James Potter, you would've loved silly socks and riding a Ducati through
Italy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus doesn’t know what time it is when he stirs. The sun has barely risen above the city
line, but it still paints their room in a soft orange and yellow glow.

His head rests on James’ chest, and he can hear a strong, rhythmic heartbeat. This alone is
enough to nearly lull him back to sleep. But even with James warm and solid beside him, he’s
too awake now. He sighs, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.

Shifting slightly, he looks up to take in James’ parted lips and relaxed expression. He’s fast
asleep, each breath a soft snore. His legs are tangled in the sheets they deemed not ruined, but
at some point, one or both of them kicked at the bedding. It puts the entirety of James’ naked
body on display, his skin golden in the soft light of early morning.

Regulus trails fingertips down the center of James’ sternum, his abdomen. Stops at his belly
button and smirks when muscles twitch under the featherlight touch. James makes a quiet
noise when Regulus repeats the motion, slipping lower this time, but he doesn’t wake.

Careful not to jostle him, Regulus grabs the discarded bottle of lube near his pillow. He pops
the cap, flinching at the sharp click. Despite it, James doesn’t stir. He has an arm thrown out
behind Regulus, the other bent up on his pillow near his temple. His palm is upturned, and his
fingers twitch every so often.

With painful slowness, Regulus moves to kneel between James’ thighs. His legs are splayed
out, one bent at the knee. For the first time ever, Regulus is thankful rather than irritated he’s
with a man who sleeps like a starfish.

He warms cold liquid between his fingers. Bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet when he
reaches back to circle his entrance. It’s tender but still loose, and he slips one finger in with
ease. It’s a fight to swallow the moan in his throat. His fingers are slimmer than James’, and
they’re almost a disappointment after last night.

Almost.

Pleasure curls around his spine as he slowly fingers himself open. He follows the inside of
James’ thigh with a steady hand. Bends forward to nose at the divot where James’ leg meets
his groin. He hums low in his throat, no longer interested in letting James sleep through this.
James comes to in stages. First with a quiet, low noise, then with mumbled, slurred Spanish.
He searches for Regulus beside him, rubbing at his eyes. “Baby? Where—?”

Regulus shifts forward to blow warm breath over the base of James’ cock. It lies soft against
his stomach, no more awake than he is.

“Reg? What are you—Oh. Oh, fuck, Regulus.”

James moans deep in his chest; it’s a broken sound thick with sleep. It turns to something
needier when Regulus rolls one of James’ balls around on his tongue before he switches to do
the same to the other. James’ legs spasm, his knees drawn up slightly so he can dig his heels
into the mattress.

“Good morning to me,” he marvels, squirming when Regulus digs nails into the inside of his
thigh. He runs the flat of his tongue from the base of James’ rapidly filling length to the tip,
collecting a small bead of clear liquid with a throaty moan. “Oh, that’s—that’s heaven.”

Unbridled glee unfurls behind Regulus’ ribs. He watches from underneath his lashes, pleased
when James pushes up on his elbows for a better view. His eyes, no longer clouded with
sleep, darken at the sight of Regulus kneeling between his thighs.

It’s slower than last night. Regulus is in control now, and he makes sure James knows it.
When his hips buck up for more, Regulus’ nails dig into the inside of his thigh until he hisses.
And when he drops back on the pillow, mumbling in a nonsensical Spanglish mess, Regulus
gives him nothing but lazy, unhurried licks to the head of his leaking cock.

It isn’t until James starts to beg, to mumble please, baby, I can’t take this, that Regulus
swallows him down without warning. It’s a startled shout, a string of swears, then a pleasure-
laced groan.

“That mouth, baby, lo haces tan bien que I can’t—” James laughs at his own slip, but it shifts
into a moan when Regulus pulls off of him with a soft pop. “Agh, no puedo pensar en nada
mas.”

Bracing one hand on the bed for balance, Regulus pushes a second finger into himself. The
sounds he makes are low, filled with pleasure and vibrating through his throat. He glances up
to see wild hazel eyes flitting between where his tongue runs lazily through the slit of James’
cock, and where his fingers disappear into his own body.

“Fucking hell. Se siente tan bien que—God, baby, look at you. You’re gorgeous.” James
reaches down to brush an errant curl from Regulus’ forehead. His fingers trace around the
shape of Regulus’ mouth, and he says lowly, “Tu boca me vuelve loco. Did you know that?”

Regulus hollows his cheeks, quirking a brow. He pulls off slowly, then grazes his teeth down
James’ shaft. “No, because I don’t speak Spanish. I never know what you’re on about.”

“Too bad.” James’ grin goes a bit crooked. He looks blissed out, eyes glazed over with lust.
“I can say the dirtiest things to you and you’ll just…never know.”
“That’s not fair. Say them in English.”

“Why should I?”

In lieu of a proper reply, Regulus swallows James all the way to the back of his throat. It
earns him a choked groan, another fucking hell, that’s good. He loses himself in this—in the
feel of James hot and heavy on his tongue, and in the building pleasure of his own fingers
curling deep.

His jaw aches by the time James mumbles in a panic, “Baby, I’m—Esperate, esperate, espe—
Wait, wait, c’mere, shit.” There’s an urgent hand in his curls, tugging. He whines at the loss
of something on his tongue when James drags him up by his hair.

“I wasn’t done,” he snaps, eyes narrowed.

James is flushed a lovely crimson shade that colors his cheeks and chest. “I know, but I
wanted this instead.”

Still pouting but not entirely displeased, Regulus lets James shift his hips back. The pressure
of a blunt head against his rim pulls a needy whine from his throat, and he inhales a shaky
breath when it’s guided into him slow, slow—

“Relax, love. I know you can take it.”

He buries his face in James’ neck to lick at his Adam’s apple, his pulse point. Strong hands
guide Regulus’ hips down inch by inch by inch, until he’s fully seated. It’s an exquisite
stretch, a slight burn, but at James’ gentle coaxing, he melts until all he feels is full.

“So good,” James murmurs in his ear. “You are so, so good for me.”

He urges Regulus’ hips forward, mumbling praise into his shoulder. This time is gentler;
there’s no frantic rush like last night. Regulus hides soft, breathy noises in James’ neck. His
cock is trapped between their bodies, the friction not enough to bring him to the edge but still
a taste of something sweet.

He plants his hands on James’ chest, fingers curled into hard muscle. His nails leave behind
little crescents. The clock on the nightstand reads 7:29 a.m., but even without it, Regulus
would know this early morning hour simply by the way James moves inside him.

It’s with slow, smooth rolls of his hips, each stroke deep and languid. They meet in the
middle, and James watches with an intensity that turns Regulus inside out from the heat of it.

James seems to wake fully in these liminal moments. He pushes up on one hand and circles
an arm around Regulus’ waist, maneuvering their bodies to get his knees underneath him. It
pushes him deeper, shifts the angle, and Regulus whimpers into the curve of his shoulder,
toes curling in the messy sheets.

He tries to move faster, to plant his feet and use the leverage to search for more—of James, of
friction, of that fullness, of anything, but James’ arm tightens around his middle to hold them
flush together.
“Easy, baby. Slow down,” he says into Regulus’ curls with a faint laugh. “We don’t have to
rush.”

“I know, but this—this feels so good.” He drops his head back, and James latches onto his
throat. He rolls his hips, finding friction in the heat and hard planes of James’ stomach. It’s
all he can do with James’ arm looped so tightly around his waist. It keeps them close, a fire
building slowly.

Without warning, James adjusts again. He lays Regulus down with his head at the foot of the
bed, murmurs, “I should be gentle with you,” and looms over him with a crooked grin. “But I
don’t think you want that. Do you, Princess?”

Regulus breathes a soft, “Oh,” and shakes his head so violently his brain rattles in his skull.
Words die on his tongue when James grips his chin. It’s the curl of strong fingers, of a kiss
that wipes his mind clean of anything other than James James James James—

Almost as if in acquiescence, James hooks his arms under Regulus’ knees, all but bends him
in half, and—yes. Regulus huffs a pleased little laugh, grinning from ear to ear. This is what
he wanted; something fast and greedy and wild. Two fingers pushed past his lips that he can
take eagerly between his teeth.

James swears under his breath, one hand fisted in the sheets near Regulus’ head. It doesn’t
take long; James finds what he’s looking for. He chuckles with his teeth sunk into the soft
inside of a slender thigh when Regulus cries out. Stars burst behind his eyelids, and fire
builds steadily in his spine. James doesn’t let up.

“You’re so pretty when you break,” he murmurs, pushing his fingers down on Regulus’
tongue. “Show me.”

He claws at James’ shoulders; it splits skin, draws a quiet hiss. Pleasure rips through him
when the fingers in his mouth slip away to wrap around his cock. His stomach tightens, but
he thinks, not yet, not yet, not yet, even as he hurtles to the edge.

“Regulus,” James murmurs in his ear, so soft and reverent he shivers. “You can come.” His
voice dips lower when he adds, “You take me like a damn dream, baby. So pretty like this.”

Regulus breaks like a vase thrown on marble floors. His back bows, and his vision goes
white. Thick ropes stripe his abdomen, more warmth on his already burning skin. He’s still
floating when James follows after with a strangled groan and buries himself to the hilt.

Except for the sounds of their breathing, the aftermath is silent. Regulus’ blood pounds an
unsteady rhythm in his ears. James isn’t much better off—he’s sweat-slicked, and scratches
mar his shoulders. Muscles expand and contract under his skin while he tries to catch his
breath. It puffs hot against Regulus’ throat.

“Good morning,” whispers Regulus, a bit shy. His fingers brush through James’ sweaty curls.
“How’d you sleep?”

“Bloody fantastic, actually.” James breathes deep, exhaling with a low groan. “You?”
“Better than I have in a while.”

“Good.” He peppers kisses along Regulus’ collarbone to the hollow of his throat before
pulling away. At Regulus’ protest, he grins. “I’m not going anywhere, love. I want to try
something.”

“But—”

“Hush.”

Regulus’ mouth snaps shut; he doesn’t have the energy to argue. But he still grumbles his
displeasure when James leaves him empty, only to yelp in surprise at the soft, teasing press of
a thumb to his abused rim. “James?” he asks apprehensively.

There’s no reply, but James settles between Regulus’ thighs on his knees. His brow creases,
then he says, “Lie on your stomach.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“Find your limit.”

Regulus’ breath catches in his chest. Swallowing, he turns onto his stomach, wincing when
his spent cock brushes soft linen. He sends another silent apology to the hotel for ruining
their sheets so terribly, but all thought leaves him when James’ hand curves around the back
of his thigh to pin him down.

Again, he asks, “James?”

“Not right now.”

Oh.

He exhales sharply and pillows his chin on his forearms. Outside their room, the city of
Milan wakes little by little. The sun is higher now; it bathes everything in a brighter glow,
and he’s all too aware of how on display he is. It makes him squirm, hot under his skin, but
James’ hand tightens on his thigh.

“You’re so full of me,” James says, almost reverent. He pushes one finger and then a second
into Regulus, chuckling at the startled noise that crawls out of his throat. It’s an easy slide to
the last knuckle. “So wet, too.”

Regulus aches, overstimulated to a point where pleasure slips into pain slips into pleasure
slips into—

“You were made for me, weren’t you?” James’ fingers curl down, and Regulus writhes like
he’s been electrocuted.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he mumbles nonsensically, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “It’s too—
I’m not—”
James’ fingers still inside him. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop, love.”

They both know Regulus won’t.

Instead, he pushes his hips back, gasps, “Keep going,” and buries his face in the curve of his
elbow.

Before he can manage a full breath, James splays a hand flat over his lower back and fingers
him with the same eager greediness as when they fuck. It’s relentless, and he doesn’t let up
even when Regulus’ muscles tighten like coiled springs.

The release is violent; his body isn’t on board with this even as he breaks into a thousand
pieces on fingers that don’t stop, that keep moving. It’s too much, the overstimulation a
terrible, wonderful thing. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, blurring Milan in the distance,
and his skin stretches thin over his bones.

When the high ebbs, he tries to scramble away from James’ merciless fingers, chest heaving
and stomach sticky with cum and sweat, but he doesn’t make it very far before there’s a hand
around his ankle, its grip a vice. It drags him from the edge of the bed and back within
James’ reach.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks in a low tone, fingers sliding easily into Regulus
once more. “I’m not finished with you. Not even close.”

“Oh, God. Oh—” Regulus sobs into his elbow, canting his hips up to ease the friction on his
overstimulated cock. But the hand on his back forces him down again. There’s a live wire
under his skin; it jolts each time James’ fingertips brush the bundle of nerves inside him.

“I’ll win this too, love. I won’t stop until you tell me to.”

Regulus doesn’t. He crests another wave, writhing, and wonders when his body will give up.
No one has ever done this to him. He’s never even done it to himself. He doesn’t know his
own limit. How much can he take? How much can he give? Not that there’s anything left
except tears on his cheeks and desperate, needy whines in his throat.

“One more for me?” asks James, leaning over him with a hand braced near his head. James’
words are gentle, coaxing. His kisses on Regulus’ shoulders are even gentler, and his tongue
maps constellations out of freckles.

“Yes,” Regulus concedes, biting into his forearm with another choked sob. “Daddy, please.”

He wants to win. Oh, he does. He wants James to complain his wrist has cramped or his
fingers don’t work or he’s no longer interested in this game, but it’s Regulus who breaks first.
Who begs James to stop, to let him breathe. His throat is dry, his voice hoarse. He’s been split
open and turned inside out.

It’s a horrible emptiness when James’ fingers slip out of him. The cleft of his ass and insides
of his thighs are a mess of James’ cum, of spit and lube. He crawls away to turn on his back
and close his legs, chest heaving. His fingertips are numb, and his toes tingle. “God,” he
breathes, unsteady. “What are you?”

James crawls over him, grinning from ear to ear. “A winner.”

“Oh, fuck off.” But Regulus doesn’t have the strength to fight. He laughs instead; it echoes
off the high ceilings, hysterical. “No one has ever got me off like that. Fucking hell.”

He wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands; wetness clings to his lashes, clumps them
together. Some greedy, insatiable part of him wants more, but the rest is so far past his limit
his very bones are exhausted.

James sucks his teeth, settling back against the headboard. “Are you serious?” he asks. “No
one’s ever done that to you before?”

“Most guys get one orgasm and consider themselves Olympic medalists.”

“Amateurs. One isn’t even enough to put you on the podium. That’s foreplay. Two will get
you bronze. Three isn’t bad. That’s silver.”

Regulus drops his hands to glare at the man sat against the headboard. He’s bent one leg so
he can rest his elbow on his knee, and he regards Regulus with haughty amusement.

“And you?” Regulus asks. “What exactly do you think you won?”

James winks, his grin stretched wide. “Baby, you know I just won gold.”

“Ugh, your ego is fucking huge.”

James’ eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. It’s annoyingly endearing. “Admit it, and
I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll even put the little bubbles and smelling salts in. Whatever you
want.” He crawls over Regulus again, ducking his head to graze his lips along Regulus’ jaw.
“Come on, Princess,” he whispers. “Let me hear you say it.”

“You are so annoying,” Regulus hisses, pushing at James’ chest. It earns him another cackle,
more tender kisses along his jaw. “Fine. Fine. You won gold, you egotistical ass.”

“Wonderful. That was music to my ears.”

“Ugh, get off. You’re heavy.”

“Not really. You just have all the strength of a gnat right now.” James laughs again when
Regulus beats fists against his chest. “Alright, alright. I’m going. Breakfast requests?”

Regulus melts into the sheets; his limbs are no better than cooked noodles. He watches James
slide off the bed, muscles shifting deliciously under his skin. It almost—almost—makes
Regulus call him back. But then he grabs his robe off the floor, shrugs it on, and glances over
his shoulder with that cheeky, knowing grin.

“Bastard,” Regulus mutters, turning to the ceiling.

“Requests?”

“Pancakes. With blueberries.”

“In the batter or on the side?”

“Both.”

James slips on his glasses, says, “You got it,” and disappears into the bathroom whistling a
cheery tune.

After Regulus hears the tub start, then the shower, he rolls over onto his stomach to grab his
phone off the nightstand. He scrolls through his notifications, pausing only when he reaches
the group chat with his friends.

There are 639 unread messages.

He rolls onto his back again with a slight wince. When he opens the chat, it’s to find absolute
chaos—and that Barty has once again changed the name, much to everyone’s chagrin.

Mr. James F. Potter’s (VERY WILLING) Harem

Regulus
Why do I have 639 messages?
And what’s with the name?
Someone explain. I’m too tired to read all that.

Barty
HELLOOOO REGULUS
Why are you tired? Couldn’t sleep? ;)
Anyway I have an important question
How much to let me fuck James?

Lily
Ugh. Here we go again.

Regulus
???
Sorry? Are you well?

Barty
Or let him fuck me I’m really not partial
This is a genuine question btw

Regulus
????????
Lily
Evan please take his phone away.
AND BARTY QUIT CHANGING THE GC NAME!!!

Lily changed the chat name to ‘Lesbian Takeover’

Dorcas
#LilyForPrimeMinister

Pandora
Aw let Barty try! It’s cute!

Marlene
But why does it have to be OUR problem?

Regulus
??????????????????

Evan
<1 Video Attached>

Regulus opens the attachment with trepidation; it could be any number of things, though he
has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly what this will be.

The quality is grainy at best, but Regulus would know the shape of his father anywhere.
And… James? Which can only mean one thing: this is the video from last night. There’s no
sound, but it’s obvious Orion and James are not exchanging pleasantries.

Not even close.

Orion puffs out his chest to make himself broader, taller, but James has a few inches on him.
He’s young and agile. It makes a difference when seemingly out of nowhere, Orion pulls his
elbow back and swings. It’s a well-aimed right hook, but James ducks it easily, his motions
smooth and fluid as he uses the momentum to return Orion’s punch with a nasty uppercut. It
knocks Orion’s head back and sends him sprawling.

“Holy shit,” Regulus whispers, unable to look away.

James follows Orion down to the floor in the middle of the crowded ballroom. With one hand
balled in the front of his expensive suit, James throws punch after punch. Orion tries to throw
him off, but James puts all of his weight on Orion’s chest.

Regulus’ father doesn’t stand a chance.

It takes two security guards to haul James off and one more to keep Orion from following
after him. They’re practically spitting at one another. Then Orion really does spit blood on
the floor before he’s hauled away. The video ends with James shrugging the guards off. He
fixes his jacket, smooths out the front, and lets himself be led through the front doors.
Regulus watches the video again. And again. And again. What did James say to make his
father put his whole back into that right hook? Regulus has been victim to it many times; it
would’ve blackened James’ eye for days had it landed. Might’ve even cracked bone if the
angle was right.

His phone buzzes with more incoming messages.

Evan
Barty wants to marry him.
Just a heads up.

Barty
No I want REG to marry him
I just want him on the weekends
Come on you know you do too!

Evan
…
No comment.

Regulus
Is this what you spent 600+ messages going on about?

Dorcas
Welcome to our hell
We’ve missed you Reggie <3
How’s Milan? Everything OK with your parents?

Regulus
Yeah I’m fine. A little spooked.
But James and I talked about it. We’re good.

Lily
That’s good! Do you have plans for today?
He’d better treat you to something nice after last night

Pandora
Louis V is nice :)

Marlene
His bank account can do better than ‘nice.’
Aim higher Reggie. Make him work for it.

Regulus
Prada? Gucci? Versace?
Barty
QUIT DISTRACTING THEM I NEED ANSWERS
Okay be honest on a scale of 1-10…
I need to know.

Lily
You literally do not need to know.
NONE of us need to know.

Marlene
We’ll leave the chat.

Barty
Reg I’m your best friend
Isn’t there a rule about this?
Don’t girls always share sex details?

Evan
Just tell him Reg
He won’t stop until you do
And I want to enjoy my Saturday in peace

Regulus
Fine. But DO NOT tell James I said this.
His ego is big enough.
Ok… if sex was an Olympic sport?
Gold. In ALL events.

Barty
Oh my god I think I just came

Marlene has left the chat

Lily has left the chat
Dorcas has left the chat

Barty
Come on!!
Pandora are you still with us?

Pandora
Out of solidarity…

Pandora has left the chat

Regulus bursts out laughing at the same time as James steps into the room. There’s a white
towel wrapped low on his hips, and water drips from the ends of his curls onto his bare
shoulders.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He tugs Regulus by his ankles.

“Look. My friends sent it.”

James squints at the screen, a frown creasing his forehead. “Is that…?”

“Oh, yeah.” Regulus grins so wide his cheeks ache. “Not the best quality, but I don’t care.
I’m saving it. It’s going on my ‘Top Ten Hottest James Moments’ list.”

“Sorry, you have a list?”

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I might have…something.”

“What are the other moments? Tell me.” James hooks Regulus’ ankles over his shoulders,
waiting.

Discreetly, Regulus opens the note on his phone. He’ll never show it outright, but he can
indulge James a little after last night. “Number two on the list is our first kiss, when you
picked me up and pushed me against the door.”

James listens intently and mouths at Regulus’ calf. “What else?”

“Hm. Number seven is sort of several moments. It’s the way you always drive with your hand
on my leg.”

“Ah. I do like doing that, yeah.”

“Number one is when you took me to the Lego store.”

James laughs through his nose. “That is your top moment?”

“Yeah, because this is my list.”

“I know, I know. I think it’s cute.” He wraps Regulus’ legs around his waist, circles his arms
under his back, and hauls him up. “God, love. You reek of sex.”

Regulus flicks him between the eyes, scowling. “I wonder why, Mr. Gold Medal.”

“Damn straight. Let’s go, Princess. Your bath awaits,” James says with a soft chuckle when
Regulus flicks him again. “And I need to order us breakfast before I start eating the
furniture.”

After his bath, Regulus slips on dark jeans and a cropped emerald jumper. The color, along
with black liner he smudges in his waterline, shifts his eyes from dull gray to something
slightly bluer. When he steps into the main room, James’ gaze immediately finds the narrow
strip of skin between his waistband and the hem of his top.

“We’ll discuss it later,” James says curtly into the phone, his jaw clenched tight. He sips
coffee from a mug where he leans against the counter of the suite’s kitchenette. His jeans are
dark, and his long sleeve gray shirt leaves nothing to the imagination. “I know, I know,” he
continues, “but it’ll be fine. Later. I have to go. We’ll talk soon.”

“Who was that?” asks Regulus, tossing his denim jacket over the back of the couch beside
James’ leather one.

“Mm? Oh, Mary. She’s calling about the video. It got to the board.”

“Shit.”

James shrugs, then jerks his chin at the raised counter in front of him. “Sit. Your food is still
warm.” He watches Regulus cross the room, his eyes still locked on the narrow sliver of skin
on display. “You know, it’s really not fair how even simple things look so lovely on you.”

“I can’t say the same considering…” Regulus trails off, looking pointedly at James’ feet.
They sport neon pink socks patterned with yellow rubber ducks. “What is with those?”

“I like them! They make wearing stuffy suits more fun, but now I just wear them all of the
time.”

“I’m not sure what it says about me that I find this attractive.” Regulus tries not to give James
the satisfaction of seeing him wince, but it’s impossible when he eases onto one of the
barstools. “Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t say a damn thing.”

James snorts. “I don’t think I have to. Here.” He sets a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of
Regulus with a smirk. “Eat up. I’ve got plans for us today, and they start in about… Twenty
minutes.”

“Twenty?”

“Not my fault you took the world’s longest bath.”

Regulus flips James his middle finger. “Whatever,” he mumbles around a mouthful of
breakfast. He hadn’t realized just how empty his stomach was until sweet syrup and fluffy
pancakes hit his tongue.

“Eloquent. Anyway, do you want to hear the plans I made? The pre-sex ones. I’m saving
those for later.”

“You already knocked a couple vertebrae loose. What’s a few more, right?” Regulus
deadpans. “Go on, then. I can see you’re dying to tell me.”

“How do you feel about…motorbikes?”

Regulus pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“Well, I kinda figured a limo wouldn’t be that fun to explore the city in. And a car is fine, but
I think this will be better. More fun.”

“And ‘this’ is…?”

“A Ducati.”

“Naturally. Of course. James, can you even drive in this country?”

He beams, clearly proud of himself. “You can if you’re licensed properly in the UK. Which I
am. But I also have an international license, so I’m covered either way.”

“I’m not sure why I’m even surprised anymore,” Regulus says with a sigh, popping a fresh
strawberry in his mouth. “I’m fine with it so long as you don’t kill me.”

“Wouldn’t harm a single hair on that pretty head. Have a little faith.”

Regulus scoffs but says nothing.

“Anyway, I’m thinking the Castello Sforzesco to start. We’ll walk around, eat some food,
drink so much wine we’re half-drunk by noon… Sempione Park is nearby. It’s the largest in
Milan, so I’m sure it’ll be busy on a Saturday, but we can find a secluded spot. Lay in the
grass for a bit…”

He trails off, watching Regulus with wide, earnest eyes. In truth, it sounds… Incredible.
Genuine. Like something Regulus might not deserve if he thinks too hard about it.

He’s worked to block last night’s conversations out of his mind for now. He doesn’t want any
of it to cloud their day. This is their little bubble of happiness; nothing can touch them here.
For now, the real world doesn’t have to exist.

But he can’t help but feel, sat here on a barstool while James drinks coffee and he eats
pancakes, like the other shoe will drop when he least expects it. Real life will come crashing
down. Regulus’ family, his missing brother, his past issues—James will tell him it’s all too
much work, too much damn effort. It’s difficult not to spiral.

There are two devils on his shoulder most of the time.

Regulus pops a blueberry in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully while he takes in the man
across from him. His hair is messy, like he’s run his fingers through it too many times and
now it doesn’t know where it belongs. His expression remains open and kind. Honest. But
there’s a mixture of anxiety and excitement in his eyes, and he worries his bottom lip
between his teeth.

The silence has stretched too long. Realizing James is waiting on him, Regulus hastily
swallows the blueberries and replies, “It sounds like the perfect date.” James’ shoulders
visibly relax, and Regulus gives him a small smile. “Is the weather good enough for it?”

“Oh, yeah. We got lucky. It’s pretty warm today for January. I think we’ll be fine. And I can’t
go that fast on city roads, so it’s not like we’ll freeze on the bike.”
“Okay. But quit distracting me so I can finish eating.”

James’ lips twitch, but he ducks to hide his full smile behind his coffee mug. Silence settles
while Regulus finishes his pancakes. James hums along with a reggaetón song playing
through the TV and bobs his head along with the beat.

Regulus can’t help it—he stares. Takes in the relaxed set of James’ shoulders, how he crosses
one ankle over the other and looks completely at ease. He scrolls on his phone with the hand
that punched Orion. The bruises on his knuckles are more discolored today, but the cuts are
clean. Regulus tries desperately—and fails miserably—to think of something other than that
same hand around his throat, those same fingers curled inside him.

“You’re staring, love.”

He nearly chokes on a blueberry. “I’m not,” he coughs, reaching for a glass of orange juice.
His cheeks are on fire. “Just… Your knuckles. They’re a little fucked up. I feel bad.”

“Eh. Could be worse.” James turns his hand over to regard the bruises and cuts with mild
interest. “It was worth it. I’d do it again.”

“Where’d you learn how to fight like that? My dad’s punches always land.”

“Boxed a bit during uni with some guys who lived in my building. It wasn’t serious, but it
was fun. Like a little club. I learned a thing or two from them.”

Regulus pushes his plate away and slides off the stool. “Will you teach me? I never learned
how to punch back, but Sirius did. I think I should learn, too.”

“I—Uh, yeah. Yeah, I can teach you, if you want.” James quirks a curious brow. “But who
are you fighting?”

“Honestly? There’s a good chance I’ll have to beat the shit out of Barty when we get back to
London.”

“Do I want to know?” asks James, setting his mug in the sink. He grabs his leather jacket
from the couch.

“Probably not.” Regulus shoves on his Docs, quickly doing up the laces. “Barty is… Well,
he’s Barty. You’ll see what I mean eventually. The world is his playground.”

Shrugging on his own jacket, Regulus follows after James to the lift. Their clothes from last
night no longer litter the entryway, and James smirks when he notices Regulus searching for
them.

He extends his hand, wriggling his fingers in invitation. His palm is warm and soft, a perfect
fit. Regulus lets James tug him into the lift, grinning like mad while James kisses him the
whole way down to the lobby.
For all the anxiety that plagued him before Milan, when it comes time to go home on Sunday,
Regulus realizes he doesn’t ever want to leave this city or his happy little bubble with James.

They spend Saturday exploring as much as possible. James rented a shiny black Ducati, and
although Regulus sits ramrod straight at first, he begins to relax when it’s clear James knows
what he’s doing. He weaves through traffic, easy and fluid, completely comfortable. Regulus
wraps his arms tightly around James’ middle, but it’s soon for warmth rather than out of fear.

Milan passes in a blur of colors. Like this, the city is within reach. Over the low thrum of the
Ducati’s engine, he can hear laughter on the pavement, can catch snippets of conversation.
Open car windows offer brief clips of Top 100 songs and Italian classics. When they ride
through a restaurant district, the aromas are so rich that Regulus all but starts to drool.

When they’re forced to wait for a gaggle of tourists to cross the road, he sneaks a hand
between James’ legs. He laughs brightly at James’ full body jolt when his palm kneads James
through his jeans. Entirely unconcerned that anyone might notice, he keeps his hand curved
around the inside of James’ thigh until they park.

It’s a warm, sunny afternoon. They walk the grounds of the Castello Sforzesco with their
faces upturned to the sky, and when they’ve seen all they can, they tour the museum and art
collection inside. James keeps Regulus’ hand in his, deftly navigating the busy Saturday
crowds. After, they eat their weight in pizza, purchase cones piled high with a variety of
gelato flavors to share, and meander through the bustling streets to Sempione Park.

But more than the food or the museum or the park, Regulus enjoys the easy conversations.
The way James laughs with his entire body, as if no part of him wants to miss out on this
chance to experience joy. But Regulus also finds comfort in their quiet silence when James
lies on his back in the grass, his head in Regulus’ lap and Regulus’ fingers combing through
his curls.

It’s some time before James, eyes closed and with the sun on his face, laments, “I think I ate
so much that none of my suits will fit when we get back to London.”

Regulus plucks blades of grass from the ground and lines them up neatly on James’ chest.
“Three days in Milan is going to give you a wicked dad bod.”

“Will you care?”

“Nah. Dad bods are sexy. I think you’d kill it.”

James’ lips twist into a cocky smirk. “It’s so cute how attracted to me you are, even though
you won’t admit—”

Regulus shoves several blades of grass in James’ mouth to shut him up. He sputters, spitting
on the ground, and Regulus laughs so hard the family nearby shoots them disapproving looks.
It isn’t until the sun dips low and the air chills that James gets to his feet, brushing grass off
his jeans. He helps Regulus up but doesn’t let go of his hand. They walk through the park
with their fingers interlaced until they reach where James left the Ducati.

“Wine?” prods Regulus, shoving the helmet over his head. “You promised me wine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get on, Princess. I didn’t forget the wine.” James pats the seat behind him and
rolls his eyes before dropping the visor of his own helmet. “What are you thinking?
Chardonnay? Merlot? Pinot? Rosé?”

“You know what I like by now. I’ll let you pick.”

It’s a bit of a challenge, but he’s pleased when James picks the finest wine he can find. He
buys two bottles of a Cabernet Sauvignon heralded as one of the best in Italy, then tasks
Regulus with holding onto them the whole way back to their hotel.

Still full from their late lunch, they don’t bother with dinner. Instead, they cuddle on the
couch with their bottles of wine and watch Italian TV. Regulus finds a popular drama amidst
countless channels, and they take turns guessing the plot with nothing more than context
clues.

It becomes a game—whoever incorrectly guesses what will happen next has to drink. And
the more they drink, the more hilarious it becomes. Until Regulus clutches at his sides,
wheezing, “Stop, stop! I can’t breathe!” and James grins triumphantly from behind the rim of
his glass.

“Drink up, baby. My guess was correct, so it’s your loss.”

After a bottle and a half, when they’re both good and tipsy, all of their limbs loose and the
heat between them impossible to ignore, Regulus slides off the couch and kneels between
James’ thighs.

He tugs at a belt, at buttons and a pesky zipper, at the waistband of dark briefs until—yes. He
sets James’ cock on his tongue with a satisfied groan, all of his thoughts hazy with wine and
lust, and doesn’t stop until James spills down his throat.

Despite all of James’ promises for more, they’re both too tipsy for much of anything. They
stand under the hot shower spray and kiss, hands wandering until James coaxes Regulus to
the edge with gentle strokes. He comes with a heavy groan, his arms looped around James’
neck, and doesn’t realize they’re both smiling until James’ teeth hit his.

After a while, the water runs cold, and they stumble out of the shower shivering. James
nearly slips, his balance off from too much wine, and Regulus laughs so hard he does slip. He
manages to catch himself on the edge of the counter, heart hammering, and glares when he
looks up to find James bent over with hands on his knees, his laughs turning to wheezes he
can’t control.

They fall into bed a little before midnight. Their kisses are soft with no real purpose or
destination. Regulus slips in and out of sleep, mumbling nonsense, and James eventually tells
him to turn around, wrapping an arm around his waist to tug him close. James is out in
seconds; he snores softly into the nape of Regulus’ neck.

Their sheets are new, the thread count ridiculously high. It’s so soft against Regulus’ bare
skin, and James is a furnace behind him, that it takes no time at all for him to slip into a deep,
dreamless sleep.

He wakes Sunday morning to James trailing kisses along his bare shoulder, to a hand
following the curve of his waist. James nudges his cock between Regulus’ thighs, rutting
forward slowly until the fog of sleep clears from Regulus’ brain. He turns so James can take
them both in hand.

“Morning,” he murmurs into the hollow of James’ throat.

“Buenos días, amor,” James replies, his voice a low rumble in his chest. He kisses the crown
of Regulus’ head, lingering as he lazily strokes them both.

This time is soft sighs and breathy moans until Regulus comes with his teeth in James’
shoulder. James follows after with a full body shudder and satisfied groan. When he suddenly
ducks under the thin bedsheet, Regulus yelps in surprise.

“James!” He squirms under an eager tongue that laps at his skin, at the mess on his stomach.
“That—That tickles! Cut it out!”

“Waste not, want not,” is all James says in response. When he’s satisfied, he crawls up
Regulus’ body with a crooked grin and glazed eyes. “Pancakes again?”

Their morning passes in a blur of business calls interspersed with make out sessions that
nearly spiral out of control. They’re stopped every time James’ phone rings yet again. He
grumbles his displeasure, forced to answer with a gruff, “This is James,” and Regulus slides
out of his lap.

It goes this way for hours, until the inevitable end to their weekend arrives.

By midafternoon, they sit across from each other in the plane. James leans across the aisle to
talk with Mary about the company’s auction purchases. Despite the slight hiccup with the
board, who isn’t particularly fond of James’ choice to punch Orion Black in the middle of a
very public, very prestigious function, nothing truly serious seems amiss.

But before take-off, James receives a call from his parents. His Spanish is rapid fire and
heated from the start. Regulus hears his name a few times; his skin itches a little more with
each accented Regulus he catches. It’s clear from James’ clenched jaw and the tense line of
his shoulders that his parents aren’t pleased about the auction either.

“They hate me. They have to,” Regulus laments when James ends the call. He buries his face
in his hands. “Oh, God. I fucked it all up, didn’t I?”

“What? No, baby. No. They’re not mad at you, and they do not hate you. They’re not even
really mad at me.” James scratches at the back of his neck. “Pa… He, uh… He hates your
dad, though. A lot. Says he’s bad business.”

Regulus looks up, panicked. “You didn’t tell them about—?”

“No, no.” James shakes his head vehemently. “I’m not telling anyone about that. I promise.
But we’ve had bad dealings with members of your family in the past. My dad considers them
blacklisted. We don’t do business with them unless it’s unavoidable through a third-party. I
know we probably sounded furious with one another, but trust me, it’s fine. You are fine.”

Regulus frowns. “But I heard my name…”

“I mentioned you, yeah. But only to relay what happened at the auction. Ma is a little angry
with me for calling your mum a bitch, but she’ll get over it. I think she’s proud I stood up for
you. It’ll just take her a while to admit it.”

Despite James’ reassurance, Regulus’ foot bounces restlessly on his knee the more his
anxiety rears its ugly head. It isn’t easy for him to stop thinking that James’ parents might
hate him simply for who his parents are.

No matter what he does, he’s still a Black. Still Orion and Walburga’s youngest. Still an heir.
If he ever meets Monty and Effie, will he be able to convince them he isn’t like his parents?
Not most of the time, anyway. He can be better. He can do better.

The problem is, he isn’t like Sirius, all natural charisma and charm. He doesn’t know how to
smile that warm, open way that makes people comfortable. If anything, he’ll probably make
James’ parents uneasy. Everyone always loved Sirius. They enjoyed Regulus’ presence less
after he left.

Thoughts of his brother inevitably bring a familiar pang behind his ribs. He’s been good for a
long time; he hardly thinks about Sirius. But seeing his parents, and then his talk with James,
opened Pandora’s box. Questions he’s held onto since he was fourteen ping pong around in
his skull.

What happened to Sirius after he disappeared? Did he stay in London? Perhaps he moved to
Scotland like he always talked about. Or maybe he went far, far away to the States and
moved into a gorgeous New York City penthouse with his boyfriend.

Regulus isn’t sure he wants answers, but that doesn’t mean the questions stop.

He stares out the window, watches the clouds change shape and color. The closer they are to
London, the more he dreads the inevitable burst of this happy, safe bubble. The second the
plane’s wheels hit the tarmac and cold, dreary London greets him, his heart sinks.

He’ll have to go home and back to real life, to classes tomorrow and the club this weekend.
No more Milan. No more expensive wine drank too fast while Italian TV plays in the
background. No more ridiculously large bed or absurdly soft towels. No more giant windows
overlooking an unfamiliar but beautiful city. No more—

“Regulus.”
He looks up to find James staring down at him. A frown creases his brow.

“You coming, love? We can deplane.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

Begrudgingly, Regulus gets to his feet and follows James off the plane. It’s not even six p.m.
Could they get dinner? This weekend doesn’t have to end now, does it? The bubble doesn’t
have to pop. There’s still plenty of time for them to stay where the world can’t touch them.
Where none of the other shit matters. Where it’s only him and James.

A thumb and forefinger grip his chin to tilt his face. He’s met with imploring eyes that never,
ever miss a thing.

“Why are you spiraling?” asks James gently. “What’s wrong?”

Regulus swallows around the words lodged in his throat. “I don’t want to go,” he croaks,
forcing the admission out.

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t want this weekend to end. I don’t want to go home. If I go home…” He glances
sidelong at one of two black cars idling nearby. “I just—I want more time. With you.”

James softens; a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “My flat is in Knightsbridge.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, blinking rapidly. “That’s close to my university.”

“It is.”

“Which means I could easily make it to classes tomorrow.”

“It does.”

“And I already have clothes and stuff with me.”

“You do.”

Regulus fiddles with the hem of his jumper. He gnaws furiously on his bottom lip. “Are you
sure? I can go home. Really, I can. If it’ll be too much…”

“Stay with me tonight. Tomorrow night. Every night this week. I don’t care.” James’ thumb
tugs his bottom lip from between his teeth to soothe the abused skin. “You can stay as long as
you want.”

“Are you sure you—”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Regulus whispers. “Yeah. That’s… Okay.”

With a full smile, James calls over his shoulder, “Hey, George? You’re good. Pete will drive
us.”

“You sure, Mr. Potter?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. He’s coming home with me.”

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek to hold back his smile. James leads him to the second
car whose driver he doesn’t recognize. The man is short with neatly styled, sandy blonde hair
and a friendly face. He introduces himself as Peter, but adds, “You can call me Pete. Almost
everyone else does.”

James spends the ride to Knightsbridge on the phone with Mary. Whatever deal they
discussed on the plane isn’t finished being a problem, but Regulus doesn’t mind. James keeps
a hand curved around the inside of his thigh, and London rushes by in blurred shades of gray.

When they reach James’ building, Peter helps them with their luggage, then gives Regulus
another firm handshake. It brings with it the same feeling he had on their way to Milan—
James’ people respect him, adore him, and in return, he respects and adores them. He laughs
with Peter, pokes fun at Mary, jokes with Frank, teases Emmeline. No one is below him, even
though he’s unmistakably their boss.

In the lift, James pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “Honestly, Mary?
My brain is fried. It’s Sunday. Let me have the night, yeah? Reg is staying over. It’d be nice
to spend uninterrupted time with him.”

Warmth blooms behind Regulus’ ribs, spreading through him quickly.

“I know we had uninterrupted time yesterday, but I want more. The board can wait. Yes, I
know they’re half dead already and time is of the essence, but another night won’t be the
thing that kills them.” James snorts, then adds, “Yes, Mum, I will call you in the morning
when I’m up. But please get laid tonight. I’m going to tell Emmeline it’s necessary for the
good of the company and—” He pulls his phone away from his ear, frowning. “She hung up.”

“Shocking,” Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes.

The lift comes to a stop on the top floor and opens to a short hallway. It’s a small entry space
with a single door at the end. He follows after James, swallowing around the ball in his
throat. It’s surreal to be here, so close to James’ personal space. He doesn’t know if it’s
excitement or anxiety or a queasy mix of both in the pit of his stomach.

Some part of him wants to scream wait, wait, wait when James uses a keycard to trigger the
lock, then ushers him inside. This will change everything, he thinks, crossing the threshold.
There’s no going back to before after this.

It’s strange. For all the time they’ve spent together, Regulus has somehow never thought to
conceptualize what James’ flat might look like. He expects something cold and manufactured
—white furniture, marble everywhere, stainless steel appliances, bare walls.
What he’s greeted with is anything but.

It’s an open floorplan with vaulted ceilings and natural light. The entryway spills into a well-
decorated living room. There’s an L-shaped couch covered in warm-colored throw pillows;
there are folded handmade blankets tossed over the back. Pictures cover the wall behind an
entertainment system, and even the shelf unit is covered with knickknacks and more pictures.
Floor to ceiling windows make up the far wall, providing an incredible view of the sunset
that mesmerizes Regulus until James tugs him towards the kitchen.

There are no walls to separate the spaces. Carpet becomes gorgeous tile, but from the kitchen,
Regulus can still see all of the living room. It’s a space meant for entertainment. There’s an
island with granite countertops and dark cabinets that match the ones wrapping around the
kitchen walls. A wooden sign above the fridge reads COCINA, and the empty space on top of
the cabinets is decorated with various trinkets.

“Most of it’s from Mexico,” James explains, digging around in his fridge for a bottle of white
wine. “I pick stuff up when I visit my parents. Little souvenirs. Decorative things. It’s usually
stuff you can’t buy anywhere else. Local vendor wares, you know?”

Regulus accepts the glass of wine James pours for him. “I expected a colder space,” he
admits sheepishly. “A lot of these penthouses all look the same.”

An apron hangs from a hook by the pantry and says in bold print: KISS THE COOK. The
dish towels are brightly colored and beautifully patterned, and the counters are cluttered with
an espresso machine, toaster, blender, and various mugs along the back wall.

The best word Regulus can come up with is homey. It’s not at all like his parents’ house,
where everything had a predetermined place, the furniture was for show not sitting, and the
walls were lifeless.

“It was pretty bland when I bought it,” James says, leaning back against the counter. He
swirls the wine in his glass and follows Regulus’ gaze around his flat. “But I spend a lot of
time here. I want it to be a comfortable place.”

“Do you mind if I look around?” asks Regulus, nodding to the living room.

“Go ahead.”

He wanders aimlessly, sipping wine while he takes it all in. He gravitates towards the wall of
pictures in the living room. Some are of people he’s met—Mary, Emmeline, Frank, Alice,
Peter—while others feature unfamiliar faces.

“Are these your parents?” he asks, squinting at a photograph of a man who looks startlingly
like James.

“Yeah. That’s my mum and dad last summer when I visited them in Guadalajara.”

“Can I be wholly honest?”

James stands to his left, watchful. He quirks a brow. “Yes?”

“Your dad is hot. Really hot.” Regulus’ grin broadens when James chokes on his wine.
“That’s a compliment, by the way. It’s nice to know you’ll age well.”

“You’re shameless.”

Regulus winks, then continues down the wall of pictures. Near the end, he asks, “Are some
missing?”

“Mm? Oh, no. Just haven’t filled those bits in yet.”

“There are nails in the wall.”

“Yeah, I had pictures up a little while ago, but they were really old. My parents’ wedding day,
my graduation… I wasn’t attached to them anymore. Took ‘em down to make room for new
stuff.” James’ arm circles his waist from behind. “You know, we took a lot of pictures in
Milan… I think there’s room for them, if you’re alright with it.”

Regulus turns and plants a hand on James’ chest, caught in his stare. “You’d put pictures of
us in your flat?”

“If it’s okay with you, yeah.” James sets his wine down on a nearby table, then Regulus’.
Chilled hands frame his face, and a gaze full of mischief meets his. “Speaking of photos…
What’s a man gotta do to get the full collection of you in that red set? No more teasing.”

“Depends. What are you willing to do?”

“Anything. Everything.” He walks them backwards with a steadily growing, devilish grin.
“But if you have any particular demands…”

Regulus giggles when James bumps into a table corner. He swears under his breath before
correcting their path.

“Forgot that was there. It’s new.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To bed, obviously.” James takes a turn down a short hallway. There are two doors on either
side and one at the end. It’s this one he aims for, still walking backwards.

“You know,” Regulus says, fisting his hands in James’ jumper to push him up against the
wall, “just because you won gold doesn’t mean you stop striving to do better. I’ve heard
Olympic athletes are never satisfied.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Regulus leans forward to nibble on James’ Adam’s apple, at the hollow of his throat
and the point where his pulse beats strongest. “Even after they win gold, they keep training.
Improving. There’s a lot to learn… I’m strictly talking about sports, of course.”
“Right, of course.” James makes a soft, contented noise when Regulus’ mouth finds his.
Between kisses, he asks, “Who said I’m satisfied with gold?”

Regulus runs his tongue over James’ bottom lip, then takes it between his teeth. “No one said
it. I’m just telling you that if you’re not satisfied with gold, then the step above that is those
pictures. All of them. And there are a lot.”

“How many?”

“More than twenty. Less than forty.”

James stills with his lips on Regulus’ jaw. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Right, I’m doomed. Dead. Gone. I won’t be able to think about anything else now. Do I get
them all at once? One at a time?”

Regulus drops his head back to give James unfettered access to the column of his throat.
“You tell me, papi. How do you want this to go?”

James’ response is immediate and unrestrained. He circles his arms around Regulus’ waist to
hoist him off his feet. It’s a door kicked open before it bangs against the wall. It’s frantic,
open-mouthed kisses and clothes removed in a scramble. Regulus doesn’t have time to take
in the room before he’s tossed on the bed. James follows after, kissing him fiercely and with a
hunger that wipes his mind clear of anything but this.

“You taste better than everything,” James says, peppering kisses down Regulus’ bare chest to
the waistband of his jeans. “I’m so addicted to this. To you.”

Regulus tugs him up by the hair, too overwhelmed to hear any more. He’ll choke on his
feelings if he isn’t careful. It’s easier this way, with kisses that are all teeth and tongue and
breathy moans.

James hooks a hand under Regulus’ knee to haul his leg up, to make space for himself
between slender thighs, and Regulus clings to him. He loses himself in the way James kisses
like any one of them might be their last, and he gives himself over to the heat of skin on skin.

Everything here smells of James, of that sandalwood and citrus fresh scent Regulus has
grown to love. When James flips him over to drive into him harder, he buries his face in
pillows laced with that familiar smell. He takes linen between his teeth, biting down to keep
from sobbing each time James brings him to the edge, only to pull him away from it over, and
over, and over again. Even after he begs, James refuses to let him have release.

He slips into madness, words nonsensical and slurred. But when James finally allows him to
break, to breathe, he buries his face in one of those pillows, inhales that comforting smell
deep in his lungs, and smiles around a choked sob when James shatters with him.

After, he curls against James’ side and traces patterns on a steadily rising and falling chest.
“What do you usually do for dinner?”
“I cook sometimes. Other times, takeaway works.”

“Mm. Takeaway sounds good.”

It’s a little while before they meander into the living room. Regulus dons an oversized
university shirt James gives him and slips into clean briefs. To his surprise, it doesn’t feel
uncomfortable to lie on James’ couch like this. No, it’s like he’s done this a thousand times
before. He lies on his stomach with a pillow under his head and flips aimlessly through
Netflix. In the kitchen, James places an order for delivery.

Regulus does his best not to let the little voice in his ear nag at him when their food arrives.
James joins him on the sofa with two bags full of takeaway boxes. He breaks his chopsticks,
settles into warm, comfy cushions with a small plate of white rice and orange chicken, and
tries to focus on the film he lets James choose.

You’re notoriously great at ruining good things, the voice whispers after they finish eating in
comfortable silence, when James collects their plates and puts the leftovers away in the
fridge. The voice plays on a loop until James comes back, offering his hand with a small
smile.

“We can watch this in my bed,” he says. “It’s a lot comfier than the sofa.”

You’ll ruin this too, if you’re not careful.

“Okay,” Regulus replies, getting to his feet. He focuses on James’ hand in his—the warmth
of his palm, the soft pads of his fingers.

No one stays for long. Not the ones you want.

Not the ones you don’t deserve.

“You alright?” asks James, tugging him into bed and under the sheets. He turns on the TV on
the opposite wall, settling in against the mountains of pillows. “Don’t spiral, love. I want you
here.” He holds out his arm with a crooked grin. “Come closer. I’m freezing.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Regulus mumbles, but he nestles against James’ side. Sets
his ear over James’ heart. It’s this steady beat and rhythm that quiets the nastiness in his head,
the voice of his mother reminding him he doesn’t deserve this and shouldn’t get too used to
it.

But I do deserve this, and you can’t have him, he thinks stubbornly, throwing an arm around
James’ middle. He doesn’t mean to squeeze so hard, but James grunts, then laughs faintly.

I deserve him, and I’m going to fucking keep him.

This one is mine.

All Regulus can do is hope the universe doesn’t disagree.

Chapter End Notes

idk there's just something so damn soft about James making all of these promises to fuck
Reg's brains out of his ears, but then they get wine drunk watching Italian TV and slip
all over the bathroom floors and fall asleep snuggling instead :( like yeah James rocked
Reg's world last night, but tonight? tonight he's keeping him warm and safe and snoring
in his ear.

i love them, your honor 😭

and Reg equating the constant thoughts of Sirius to opening Pandora's box after so long
keeping it closed, and now he can't stop thinking about where his brother is and what
he's doing :( oh baby. he's so stubborn, grappling with this hatred he's held onto for so
long, but this is grief, y'know? he's built his life around this brother-shaped hole, but that
doesn't mean the hole is gone. every once in a while he forgets it's there and falls in it.

😭
trips, busts his ankle... he can say "fuck my parents" after Milan, but he has a much
harder time saying the same for his big brother

also, some have seen me mention it on Tumblr (and a few caught it in ch 9 with the
"Princess" comment triggering a specific response in Reg), but Reg has had thoughts on
his gender identity/expression that he's yet to really discuss with James. it wasn't
initially meant to be a part of the story, but the more time i've spent with this Reggie and
thought about him, the more right it's felt right for him. it started with "yeah he likes
he/they," and then it spiraled into, "but why?" and now we're here. i've added some tags
but the best way to describe Reg's gender is he's leaning on genderfluid, but even he's
not sure yet. he's very much at the start of his journey. it's also quite personal for many
reasons, so it's been cathartic to think about how i want to write this story for him.

anyway! him and James talk about this more in detail in the next few chapters. but i
thought i'd drop a note about it because Reg is comfortable with who he is. there's no
gender dysphoria. he's just trying to figure out what suits him best and feels the most
authentically him, but yeah — it's discussed more soon!

see you in the next one and i hope you enjoyed <3

🖤
once again, happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend — James Fleamont Potter
 if i take a step back to see the glass half full
Chapter Notes

hello all! i'm sorry for the longer than anticipated break between ch 10 and this one. i'd
intended to publish this almost a week ago, but life really got in the way (looking at you,
car that stopped accelerating on the freeway). lots of stresses etc. my first of 5 exams is
also in ~3 weeks, so i can't promise super consistent updates until after May 10th. i'll
still aim for once a week (trust me, i'll need the serotonin these two bring me to make it
through exam season), but i also have to prioritize my studies.

anyway, friendly reminder that gender is not a one size fits all mold, and it is incredibly
nuanced and individual <3 enjoy!

cw recreational drug use (i watched a movie with a shotgunning smoke scene and it was
all over for me after that, folks); and really small tw for mentions of a homophobic
household but nothing explicit

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Babe, tilt your face up for me? Close your eyes, too. Perfect.”

When Dorcas leans closer, Regulus breathes in her familiar smell of fresh floral and spice. It
mixes with the incense aroma permeating Lily and Pandora’s entire flat, though it’s strongest
here in their living room where a stick burns on the coffee table.

Dorcas’ finger pokes gently into the divot under his chin to tilt his head back a little more for
the perfect angle. She swipes a soft bristled brush over his left lid, working it back and forth
in practiced, short strokes. This isn’t the first time he’s sat for Dorcas, who runs a successful
business as an independent makeup artist.

“Ugh, this color isn’t working either,” she says with a displeased huff. “I hate picky clients.
They always give me the worst anxiety.”

“I think it looks good,” remarks Lily from her place on the sofa. “Did she gave you an idea of
what she wants?”

“She sent inspo pics, but not a single one looks the same. It’s a mess. I can’t tell if this girl
wants Kim K neutral vibes or full tropical toucan.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing right now looks fabulous.”

“That’s because it’s Regulus.”

He smirks, though he’s careful not to let his eyes crinkle at the corners where Dorcas
continues to place pigment on his lid.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, not even four p.m., but they’re all at least one cocktail deep. When
Regulus arrived shortly after his last class let out, Lily proclaimed, “Wonderful! It’s five
o’clock somewhere, yeah?” and set about making four very strong margaritas.

Much to his chagrin, Regulus has barely touched the second cocktail Lily made for him after
he finished his first. Apparently, Dorcas’ bitchy client shares his complexion. She’s done and
redone the makeup on his eyes no less than twelve times over the last hour or so.

“When’s the event?” he asks.

“Next weekend.”

“Oh. Then you have plenty of time to figure out the right look.”

Dorcas heaves a sigh. “Yeah, but I have other clients between now and then. Less picky ones,
sure, but I’m going to be stressed about this one for days. It’s a bride and her full bridal party.
Do you have any idea how much she’s paying me? I can’t fuck this up. I’m also pretty sure
she’s an heiress or something. Very Paris Hilton.”

“Bummer. She’ll never be happy,” Pandora laments from her spot on the floor. Her head rests
on Regulus’ thigh, and she’s stretched out under a thin blanket.

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” snaps Dorcas, and Regulus can hear the scowl in her
voice. “But if this goes really well, then I’ll probably have a huge list of future clients. All of
her bridesmaids will marry CEOs.”

“Just like our Reggie.” Pandora giggles when Regulus manages to smack her forehead gently.
“Sorry, but I’m just saying what we’re all thinking! Mr. Regulus Black-Potter… You’re
gonna be so spoiled. Promise you won’t become a Paris Hilton? I can see you as a
Bridezilla.”

Regulus fights the urge to bop her on the forehead again. “Shut up. You don’t see anything.”

“Of course I do. I’m very perceptive.”

“I know for a fact my tarot cards didn’t tell you that I’ll marry a rich CEO.”

“Oh, darling. I don’t need tarot cards to see that in your future.” This time, Regulus doesn’t
hold back and smacks her square in the middle of her forehead. She cackles, clearly pleased.
“Come off it, Reggie. You’re the one who made Milan sound like a honeymoon!”

“I did not!”

“You kinda did,” Lily pipes up from the sofa. “It’s not a bad thing. It sounded lovely. I think
it’s exactly what you needed. You’ve had a string of not-so-great guys in the past, but James
is good for you.”
Regulus presses his lips into a thin line. “He’s… Well, he’s James.”

“I know you’re only wearing that constipated look right now because every time you even
think his name, you smile like an idiot.”

“Evans, if I could flick you between the eyes from here, I would.”

“Oh, no. I’m just shaking in my slippers.”

Dorcas quits blending colors on his lids with a disgruntled huff. “Can you two cut it out?
Reggie moves when they talk. It’s annoying.”

“I don’t move,” he argues, forcing his body to stay very still to prove his point.

“Then just quit talking so I don’t have to hear you and Lily bicker. I’m almost done.”

A sound bar connected to the girls’ TV plays indie pop while Dorcas works with unbreakable
focus. Regulus is more than happy to sit for her; the brush on his lids is strangely calming.
After a while, he worries he’ll fall asleep sitting up if Dorcas doesn’t finish soon.

Until she finally declares, “Alright. That’s as good as she’s gonna get.”

Pandora sits up, and Regulus opens his eyes for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
“Well?” he asks, looking at each of the three girls in turn.

“Kinda dangerous. Very sexy.”

“Hot.”

“You should do winged liner more often.”

Lily turns on her side to rest her cheek on her fist. “You’re going to James’ after this, right?”
She grins mischievously. “Don’t wash your face or any of that off. I bet he’ll die over this.
Let him see it.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Regulus fiddles with the hem of his jumper, suddenly shy. “I’ve only
ever worn a bit of eyeliner. It’s always subtle. I doubt he even notices…”

“I’m sure he does. You’re gorgeous. He’d be an idiot not to notice.”

“I guess. He just might not be into all…this?”

Dorcas rolls her eyes and passes him a small mirror. “This is some of my finest work. And
it’s not anything too dramatic, either. I could’ve done a crazier wing, but this is meant to be
for a wedding, so it’s blended out. I’m trying something I saw on TikTok. It’s supposed to be
‘natural,’ but I think that’s bullshit. It requires a fuck ton of work to nail it. Here. See for
yourself.”

He chews on his bottom lip and risks a glance in the handheld mirror. Dorcas added a bit of
blush and subtle highlighter on his cheekbones—to bring out your natural freckles; all the
beauty gurus wish they had them like this—as well as some on the bridge of his nose.

But it’s the soft, smoked out wing and subtle colors blended on his lids, as well as a touch of
sparkly white in his inner corners, that brightens his eyes. The storm cloud gray of his irises
is now a misty color, though the edges remain a darker hue.

“Hot, right?” asks Dorcas, grinning proudly. “I don’t think this’ll look good on my client,
though. The tones, yeah, but her eyes aren’t like yours. I’ll have to do different colors for
her.”

“I don’t want to wash it off,” he admits quietly, tilting his head so light catches the shimmery
shadows. “You worked too hard. And it looks really good.”

“Then don’t.” Pandora nudges his knee with her own. “Wear it, Reggie. James will like it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then fuck him,” says Lily simply. “You’re trying to figure out something really important to
you. If he can’t support that then he isn’t worth your time. I know you like him, but your
comfort comes first. If he doesn’t like that you want to experiment with gender expression a
little, then once again—fuck him.”

Dorcas pulls her leg to her chest and rests her chin on her knee. Her expression is
contemplative. “Have you mentioned any of it to him yet? You said last Friday that you
wanted to, but…”

“No,” Regulus admits, shaking his head. “I don’t… I don’t know how to bring it up. The
gender stuff.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to—he really, really does—but it took him ages to talk openly
about it with his friends. And even that conversation only happened recently. He still
remembers fumbling through it, hands clasped in his lap and palms clammy. As usual, the
nasty voice that sounds eerily like his mother kept whispering, No, shut up, they won’t be on
board or supportive of this.

They were, of course.

He nearly fell off the couch with relief when Pandora got up to hug him and said, “We’re
here for you, Reggie, however you need us to be.” He was lightheaded from his rambling
attempt to explain I don’t know what I am or want to be, and it feels good sometimes to exist
in a liminal space between masculine and feminine, and maybe I’m okay with being a boy but
I don’t want to only be this, and I hate the boxes, but I don’t know what that means yet.

After he breathed deep into his lungs, it was Lily who offered, “Maybe we start with
pronouns? That could be good. No big changes yet.”

“Like gender baby steps!” Pandora said, shaking him a little. It made him laugh and broke the
tension.
“We’ll call you whatever you feel comfortable with,” added Barty, and the rest of his friends
echoed the sentiment.

“I think ‘he’ is fine, but ‘they’ is good, too,” he told them, wiping his palms on his jeans.
“For now. That’s small, right?”

Pandora kissed his cheek and murmured, “Yeah. Gender baby steps.”

The problem is, he doesn’t know how to drop this in James’ lap. He’s had the opportunity,
but he chickens out every time.

It’s been two weeks since they came back from Milan, and Regulus has slept over at James’
flat every night. He’s gone home only a few times—for his Porsche, his laptop and textbooks,
some work necessities. Even on the late nights he has a shift at the club, he parks the Porsche
in the underground garage of James’ building and takes the lift to the top floor.

For the first few days, he waited for James to send him home. To tell him, This is too much,
and maybe a little distance would be nice. But if anything, James is the opposite. One
morning, when Regulus said he needed to go back to his flat after class for more clothes,
James simply left his black card on the kitchen island with a note that read:

Buy whatever you need with this :)

(And maybe a little something for me…)
-J

That night, James walked in the door to find Regulus reading on the sofa. He was lying on his
stomach, feet in the air and ankles crossed. It was a new set he wore—soft pink in color and
all lace, with black silk garters and thigh high stockings topped with bows.

“Hi, Princess.” James pulled at his tie and asked in a low tone, “Is this for me?”

To which Regulus looked over his shoulder and replied sweetly, “You bought it, papi. What
do you think?”

His new set didn’t last the night.

Once Regulus’ initial anxiety faded, it was easier to find comfort in James’ space. On the
nights he doesn’t work at the club, he sits on the kitchen island, socked feet banging softly
against the cabinets, and watches James make dinner. He always offers to help, but James
shakes his head, dons his ridiculous apron, and says, “I like to cook. Just sit there and look
pretty. Keep me company. Maybe do the dishes.”

He does, which he finds terrifyingly domestic. James always helps, flicking soap suds at him
with a cheeky grin. It’s with each of these small moments that the terror of what this is
between them fades a little more.
After the first week, Regulus wondered if his insomnia would finally let him rest for the first
time in years. He thought James on his tongue before bed was his new melatonin, something
better than Ambien.

Until one night he woke drenched in a cold sweat. His heart rate was through the roof, and
his lungs refused to take in air. He shook like a leaf, gasping for breath, until a warm arm
wrapped around his middle and a strong chest covered his back like a weighted blanket.

“Hey,” murmured James. He threw a leg over Regulus’ hip and tugged him close. “It’s okay,
love. You’re safe here.”

But Regulus still shook. His heart hammered against his ribs. Even as he stared into the dim
of James’ room, he saw nothing but his mother’s cruel smile and his father’s twisted anger.
So many memories that he locked carefully away but were beginning to resurface.

“Baby?”

It wasn’t typical for these things to haunt him. Not like this. And why here, in a place he felt
warm and safe and—

“Regulus.”

He buried his face in a pillow and whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’Alright. I usually get up around this time.”

A lie—the clock said it was 3:27 a.m. James could sleep until noon if he didn’t have a
company to run, and his insomnia isn’t chronic. It comes and goes with his stress, but doesn’t
bother him lately.

Regulus hasn’t been so lucky.

That night, they stayed up talking until Regulus swung a leg over James to straddle his hips.
It was slow sex, not like their usual, but good for nearly five in the morning. And when the
weekend came around, James brought him to the Lego store again and waited while he
picked out something complex enough to hold his interest.

Like clockwork, he couldn’t sleep that night, or the next, or the one after that. So he slipped
out of James’ arms and wandered into the living room, where he sat on the floor between the
couch and coffee table to start building. It wasn’t even twenty minutes later that he heard
shuffling footsteps. He looked up to find James mid yawn and wiping sleep from his eyes.

“You should go back to bed,” Regulus had said, clicking pieces together. His stomach sank
through the floor; he didn’t want to cause James trouble. “I’ll be fine. I just need an hour to—
What are you doing?”

James sat on the floor next to him. He set two glasses of water on the table, then grabbed a
blanket from the sofa to cover his bare shoulders. “Can I help?” he asked, blinking at the
pieces strewn over his coffee table and the booklet near Regulus’ elbow. “It’s been a long
time since I built a Lego set, but I like them.”
“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just tell me what to do.”

Regulus showed him how one step really involves three or four sub steps to complete it. They
sat in comfortable silence, clicking pieces together until Regulus’ eyelids started to droop.
Rather than head back to bed, they laid out on the sofa and dozed until the sun came up.

Any one of these late night Lego sessions would’ve been the perfect opportunity to talk to
James about how he’s felt regarding his gender. And while he doesn’t always think about it,
he thinks about it more now that it feels like a secret he’s keeping.

“What if we help you?” asks Dorcas, drawing him back into the incense-filled living room.
“He’s coming to film night tomorrow, right? Maybe we can… I don’t know. Help me out,
Lils. You’re better at this stuff.”

“We can do what we’ve been doing?” Lily purses her lips, contemplative. “If you don’t want
to bring it up out of the blue, maybe he’ll notice we use other pronouns for you. That we
alternate them and stuff.”

Pandora snorts. “You’re asking a lot of a man, babe.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” says Dorcas. “If he doesn’t notice, then we’ll help Reg figure
something else out. But if he does notice, maybe he’ll bring it up on his own. He seems
thoughtful like that.”

“And if he notices but doesn’t bring it up at all?” Regulus counters.

“Regardless, we’ll help you figure something out. You’re not alone in this if you don’t want
to be.” Dorcas squeezes his knee, smiling softly. “You also don’t have to tell him.”

“I know, but I want to. I think he’s wondering, but maybe he’s afraid to ask and make me
upset… I don’t know.” Regulus shrugs, then pulls his knees to his chest to rest his chin
between them. “I don’t want him to think this is some sort of elephant in the room when it’s
really not that big of a deal.”

Lily wags a finger at him. “It’s a big deal to you, and therefore it is a big deal. Don’t
downplay it. We’ll see what happens tomorrow night.” She sits up suddenly. “Speaking of—
what are you going to do about Barty?”

“Barty?” ask Pandora and Dorcas in unison.

Regulus’ grin slowly spreads. “James and I have a little plan. I told him Barty will probably
flirt with him. It’s just what he does because he thinks it gets under my skin. So I told James
to flirt back.”

Pandora bursts out laughing and shakes her head, strands of white-blonde hair popping out
from the bun on her head. “Barty is going to be so confused.”

“Exactly. I’ll throw him off his game.”

“Poor Barty,” Dorcas sighs, but Lily says, “This is gonna be so fun.”

It’s half past six when James parks the Aston outside Barty and Evan’s flat. There’s a bottle
of chilled tequila between Regulus’ feet, and he reaches for it. The car is eerily quiet now; the
engine and music cut at the same time.

“I still think this is overkill,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. He spins the tequila bottle
around in his hands and frowns at the label. “They’re going to love you with or without a
gift.”

“It feels like proper etiquette, though. And I’m a little nervous,” James adds sheepishly,
squeezing Regulus’ thigh. “This is like meeting your family.”

“Technically, you already met my parents. And you lived to tell the tale.”

“Sure, but you don’t usually punch your boyfriend’s dad the first time you meet him. Seems a
bit—What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Regulus’ grip on the tequila tightens until his knuckles turn white. He stares at James, his
heart an obtrusive thing in his throat, and blinks rapidly until he manages to croak,
“Boyfriend?”

“Oh. I…” James rubs at the back of his neck and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “That
was one hell of a Freudian slip, wasn’t it?”

They haven’t talked about it. This. Them. Regulus spends every secondminutehour that he
can with James, but only realizes now—on a Friday night two weeks after their trip to Milan
—that they haven’t talked about it. Does he even want to? Talking about it means putting a
label on it means admitting the label can come off means it can break, that Regulus can—no,
will break it. He always does.

No label is better. A thing without a label can be left on a shelf and forgotten. What is it?
Don’t know, don’t remember, don’t care, doesn’t matter, isn’t important.

A firm, unyielding grip on his chin. Wide hazel eyes behind round glasses. Close, so close,
because James is close and—

“Baby,” he says, soft but stern. “¿Estás bien?” A voice smooth and dark as whiskey.
Delicious, and lovely, and best kept somewhere Regulus can’t reach it. “Regulus, mírame.”

“I’m looking,” he whispers, because he is.

“Searched that one up, did you?”

A laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it. “Context clues. In Milan. When I was on
my knees for you.”

“Don’t distract me with mental images of you—” James’ fingers tighten on Regulus’ chin,
and a muscle feathers in his jaw. “Baby, be honest with me. And yourself. One word and
you’re spiraling. Why?”

Because he doesn’t think he’s ever properly dated—with titles and commitment and the
threat of falling in love. His relationship with Barty and Evan doesn’t count. They were
wonderful, and they loved him, but he was never in danger of falling in love with them.
There’s a distinct difference to Regulus.

Because he is very, very much in danger of falling in love with James Potter.

“It’s a big word,” he says. “To me.”

“Why?”

“Because I ruin things. Fuck them up.” He fights the urge to bring his thumb to his mouth
and bite his nails. It’s a habit he kicked years ago, but he feels knocked off-balance. All that
stops him is the black polish that he knows will taste godawful. “It’s easier to pretend I can’t
ruin it if it’s just sex or…”

James tilts his head. The tip of his tongue runs along his lower lip before his teeth sink into it,
and Regulus could strangle him for this movement alone. “Is it, though?” he asks evenly.
“Just sex?”

Was it ever?

Regulus shakes his head as much as he can with James’ fingers still firmly gripping his chin.
“No,” he replies. God, his voice betrays everything. It’s pained even to his own ears. He
swallows, then adds, “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the shit out of me.”

“What if I told you it scares the shit out of me, too?”

“Then I’d call bullshit. You’re not scared of anything.”

James’ mouth quirks at the corner. “That’s not true. I’m just not scared of you.” He pulls
Regulus close enough the tips of their noses brush. “We can do this, you know. We can give it
a proper try, if you want.”

“What if it crashes and burns?”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

Regulus flicks his gaze to the roof of the Aston. He can’t look into James’ eyes anymore.
They pin him in place and make it impossible for him to think. His brain is a muddled mess
but despite it, his heart knows the truth.

Who is he kidding, anyway?

They were properly together that first morning he rolled out of James’ bed, naked until he
threw on an oversized jumper that smelled of sandalwood and citrus, and padded softly into
the kitchen where James flipped omelets while dancing to low music. He looked over his
shoulder, hazel eyes bright, said, Morning, love. Gimme five and breakfast will be ready—
and Regulus should’ve known right then.

“I make stupid decisions when it comes to you,” he mutters, still staring at the Aston’s roof
like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever laid eyes on. “But I don’t regret a single one, so
maybe…” He inhales a shaky breath, then whispers, “Okay. Yes, I want to.”

“Want to what?” asks James, and Regulus scowls.

“You know what. Don’t play dumb.”

“Me? Play dumb? Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

“I hate you.”

James’ fingers squeeze his chin, and he finally drops his gaze to meet excited eyes. “So I can
call you my boyfriend now and you won’t run screaming for the hills?”

“I did not run screaming. You’re being dramatic.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Princess.” James’ eyes crinkle with his laugh when Regulus
tries to bite the tip of his nose. “Should I change your name in my phone again?”

“What? No. And what do you mean ‘again’?” Regulus asks warily, his eyes narrowing to
slits. “What is it now? ‘Regulus’ is fine. You don’t need to—”

James snorts. “Oh, love. It hasn’t been ‘Regulus’ since we got back from Italy.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you mine…” A knowing, wolfish smirk. “But only if you tell me yours.”

Regulus stills. “You didn’t.”

“In my defense, it really was an accident. Your phone was on the counter, and we have the
same one, so I picked it up…” He trails off, his grin widening slowly. “You hadn’t opened my
last message. The notification was right there.”

“Oh, my God.” Regulus groans and slumps in his seat. He’s mortified. “You weren’t
supposed to see it!”

James’ grin becomes positively blinding. “When we text while you’re in class, does the
person next to you wonder who ‘Daddy’ is? Or are you better about not leaving your phone
face up in public where anyone can see it?”

“You weren’t supposed to see it!” he repeats emphatically, humiliation mounting when he
realizes it’s probably been days since James saw his new contact name.

“I liked the heart, by the way,” he muses. “I think it’s adorable.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue with a scowl. He’s too embarrassed to bother with excuses.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I like it. I didn’t want you to change it because you were embarrassed. And I
changed yours, so it felt fair.” James’ fingers shift to splay over his jaw, the touch so tender it
cracks something open in Regulus. “It’s ‘Princess,’ by the way. I like the way you blush a
little whenever I call you that.”

“Don’t change it,” Regulus blurts before he can push the words down. His cheeks heat
immediately. Quieter, he adds, “Keep that one. It’s better than—than ‘Boyfriend’ or
something.”

James’ fingers slip into Regulus’ curls, tangling in the ones at his nape. “I’m gonna be
annoying about it, though. The boyfriend thing. I feel like I’ve gone to war and back these
last… How long has it been now?”

“Since when exactly?”

“The first night. The very first one. I knew I wanted you then, so I’m counting from there.”

Regulus swallows. “Three months, give or take.”

“Dios mío, I’ve been so bloody patient. Yeah, I think I’ve earned the right to be annoying.”

Before Regulus can come up with a witty retort, James kisses him in that soft, special way he
seems to when there are things he wants to say but can’t. Regulus only understands because
he’s the same; it’s easier, sometimes, to be vulnerable in action rather than in words.

When James pulls away, Regulus chases after him with a soft whine. “Your friends, love,” he
murmurs, chuckling. “We’ve been parked out here for fifteen minutes. They’re going to think
we’re up to something.”

“So? We should be up to something. The backseat is big enough.”

“I’m too tall.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

James kisses him again, but he pulls away before Regulus can deepen it. “Come on. We’ve
got a little game to win, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Regulus drops back in his seat, two fingers pressed to his mouth. It’s stretched
into a wide smile. “You don’t have to, you know. Fuck with Barty. If you’re having second
thoughts…”

“Are you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Do you think he’ll hate me for messing with him?”

Regulus snorts. “No. It’ll probably make him love you more than he already does. He’s
irritating that way.”

“Wonderful. They say if you can win over one, you can win them all.” James nudges his
shoulder with a gentle hand. “Let’s go before I decide the backseat isn’t too small after all.”

“Oh, that’s not fair!” Regulus opens his door with an irritated huff. James slams his own
closed, punctuating it with a delighted laugh.

It’s nearing the end of January. Chilly air bites at the exposed sliver of skin between the
waistband of Regulus’ loose black cargo pants and baby blue jumper. He shivers, and a warm
hand slips under soft cashmere to rest on his bare skin. It turns his insides molten, makes
them gooey as treacle.

“Boyfriend,” he hears James murmur under his breath as they walk up to Barty and Evan’s
front door. He’s grinning like a cat that’s got the cream. “Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?”

“You really are going to be annoying about this,” Regulus says with feigned exasperation.

“Oh, absolutely. Give me another twenty minutes to process it and I’ll be shouting from the
rooftops about how much I—”

Barty and Evan’s front door swings open with a dramatic flourish. Light floods out onto the
landing along with the mouthwatering smell of Pad Thai—which means Marlene is cooking
tonight, and Regulus will have to kiss her full on the mouth for it. Pad Thai is his favorite, but
only when it’s Marlene who’s made it.

His excitement bubbles over, and he’s ready to plough right through the entryway and into
the kitchen—until he realizes who stands between him and his favorite dish. “Oh, hell,” he
mutters, turning his face to the sky and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m on greeting duty,” Barty says, grinning as wide as the Cheshire Cat. “Lily said so.”

“Bullshit. You said so.”

“Maybe. What difference does it make?” He turns his attention to James, who watches with a
steady, calculating stare. “Hello, you,” Barty all but purrs. He leans against the doorframe,
arms and ankles crossed. He’s in nothing but a black T-shirt and loose jeans, but simple has
always worked well for him. It emphasizes the tattoos all over his arms and hands, the rose
over his throat.
“Good evening,” James replies simply. He holds out his hand, and Barty smirks before
shaking it.

“I’m Barty. We haven’t met, but I know all sorts of things about you.” He tilts his head and
Regulus sighs heavily. “Has Reggie told you anything about me?”

James tilts his head to mirror Barty. Sizes him up as much as Barty does the same to him,
taking in the tattoos and various piercings. The way his hair sticks up in all directions as
though he spent his childhood sticking knives in light sockets.

“I recognize you from the club,” James says smoothly.

“Bingo, baby. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I know. I don’t really think you’ve earned an answer yet.”

Barty’s jaw ticks, but before he can open his mouth to respond, Regulus shoves at his chest to
push him aside. “Quit flirting with my boyfriend and move. I want food.”

“It’s not ready yet. And I’m hardly flirting. This is just pleasant conversation. Also—
boyfriend? That’s new.” Barty kicks the door shut behind them, gaze flicking between
Regulus and James like they’re a particularly fascinating puzzle. “Does that mean I’m not
allowed to flirt with him anymore?”

“As if anything could stop you,” Regulus deadpans, toeing off his Docs to set them near the
front door.

“Wonderful.” To James, he says, “Have they told you I’m on a very important mission to fu
—Ow, ow, ow!”

Regulus has snatched his ear to drag him away from a very amused-looking James, who
shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it on a hook. “Seriously, Barty? Seriously? We haven’t
even been here for five minutes.”

“Figured I’d break the ice properly from the jump. Sorry.”

He drags Barty down the hall and into the living room. His friends all turn at once, and their
expressions morph from curious to startled at the sight of him hauling Barty by the ear. They
shift again when James comes around the corner.

“Hello,” he says with a small wave. “I’m James.”

“We know,” says Pandora from her spot on the sofa. She has her feet in her brother’s lap, but
manages to move them just before Regulus all but throws Barty across Evan’s thighs. “I’m
Pandora, but we’ve met. And I see you’ve met Barty.”

There’s a twinkle in James’ eyes and a crinkle at their corners. “Yeah, I remember you. Your
parents’ restaurant is one of my favorites now.”
Pandora beams with pride. “Oh. Mum and Dad will love that. Anyway, everyone introduce
yourselves and stop gawking.”

Introductions are more painless than Regulus expected. After their initial surprise, his friends
ease into comfortable smiles. Evan shares a casual fist bump with James and says, “Whiskey,
always neat,” to which James smiles and replies, “Brilliant.”

He says hello to each of the girls in turn. They catalog his gray jumper, relaxed jeans, and
colorful socks with shrewd eyes. Regulus can practically hear the conversation between
Dorcas and Marlene when the former shoots the latter a pointed look.

He doesn’t look like a CEO, does he?

A subtle head shake. Not even a little.

James takes a seat on the sofa at Evan’s invitation, and though Regulus is hesitant to leave
him alone in a new environment, he seems relaxed enough. When James shoots him a smile,
then a wink, the tension leaves his bones and he wanders into the kitchen to say a proper
hello to Lily and Marlene.

“He seems lovely,” Lily says under her breath when Regulus hugs her.

“Just like that?” he asks, reaching for the bottle opener on the counter to open the beer he
grabbed for James.

Lily shrugs. “I like the way he looks at you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Reggie, it’s supposed to be obvious.” Lily bumps him with her hip. Her green eyes sparkle,
and her smile is fond. “It’s what you deserve. Here, I just finished making this margarita.
Want a shot, too?”

“Please.”

Lily pours one for him and another for herself. The bottle of tequila James bought is in the
freezer, waiting until Lily finishes the one already open on the counter. It won’t take long; her
cocktails are strong for a reason.

“Agh,” she says after knocking back the shot. She makes a face, then reaches for her
margarita. “So much better in a cocktail.”

Regulus laughs and takes his drink and James’ beer back into the living room. Pandora has
moved to sit cross-legged in front of the TV next to Dorcas, but Barty and Evan keep their
spot at one end of the sofa. Regulus lowers himself gingerly beside James, careful not to spill
any of his drink.

“What’s that?” asks James, nodding to Regulus’ cocktail. “Strawberry margarita?”

“Mhm. Lily’s specialty. She’ll make one if you want. They’re strong enough that two will get
you past tipsy, but not too strong that you taste the tequila. They go down easy. Wanna try?”

James nods, and Regulus brings the glass to his lips. He tilts it slowly so James can drink. “I
see what you mean,” he says, humming appreciatively after Regulus pulls the drink away.
“Those are dangerous. You’re a tequila person, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes.” Regulus nestles into James’ side and throws a leg over his. He catches Evan’s
pointed look, and ducks behind the safety of his glass to hide his blush. He’s brought guys
around in the past—no one special or memorable, if he’s honest—but he always kept his
distance from them in front of his friends.

“You ever had a paloma?” asks James.

“No. What’s in it?”

James’ arm circles his shoulders, and fingers slip under the neckline of his jumper to rest
over his collarbone. It’s a subtle but possessive touch. “Tequila. Lime juice. My mum
squeezes a fresh orange in it, too. Then you add Squirt, some Tajín. Oh, and you always have
to make sure there’s chamoy on the rim.” James drops his head back with a wistful sigh. “Ma
makes them the best. I could drink a hundred of them.”

“You’d get alcohol poisoning.”

“Worth it. Trust me.” James rubs his fingers against Regulus’ collarbone absently. “She’ll
make you one someday. Actually, she’ll probably make you as many as you can handle.”

There’s a slight tug behind Regulus’ ribs. He sips his margarita, desperate to hide the blush
he knows colors his cheeks bright pink. It always betrays him. “Someday sounds nice,” he
murmurs, and James hums his agreement.

Conversation is easier than Regulus expected. Evan and James settle into a smooth back and
forth, though neither of them ask overly probing questions. Dorcas and Pandora bicker in
front of the TV while flipping through Netflix’s options, and Barty watches James with
narrowed eyes from where he rests his cheek on Evan’s thigh. His arms are crossed over his
chest, but the rest of him is spread out across the sofa.

Regulus would give anything to know what’s going on inside his head. He has the exact same
expression he usually wears when he’s debating whether to get up to no good or behave.

Eventually, Marlene declares dinner finished and calls them into the kitchen. There’s no
dining table since Barty wanted a larger sofa instead, so the eight of them gather around the
kitchen island or take up various positions on the counters.

“This is delicious,” James tells Marlene, his plate already half-inhaled by the time they’re all
settled. “Seriously, what’s your secret? I love to cook, if you’re willing to share the recipe.”

“Mum is Thai.” She hops up on the counter with her own plate and grins proudly. “I can’t
speak the language for shit, but I can cook the cuisine. It’s Reggie’s favorite.”
“Really?”

“Mhm. Made it for them once and now they never stop asking. But we rotate who cooks and
who orders takeaway every week. Keeps it even. And interesting.” Marlene pulls a leg to her
chest to balance her plate on her knee. It’s perilous, but she twirls noodles on her fork with
ease.

Two subtle lines form between James’ brows. He looks quizzically to Regulus, but before he
can ask the question forming behind his eyes, Dorcas pipes up, “So, James. Tell us what you
do for work. Regulus said you’re a CEO, but that could mean many things.”

Regulus leans his elbows on the island, happy to eat while he listens to James field his
friends’ questions. Barty and Evan bracket him on either side, while Lily and Pandora sit on
the counter behind him. Their heels hit the cabinets in a steady rhythm. James leans against
the counter opposite them; he’s close to Marlene and Dorcas, who watch him with curious
stares.

“Honestly? I just do a lot of entrepreneurial and philanthropic bullshit. My dad built the
company twenty years ago, and I inherited it when he got too old. My parents didn’t have me
when they were young. Ma was thirty-seven, I think. She and my dad are in their mid-sixties
now, so Pa put me in charge.”

“What does your company do? Or sell?” asks Evan.

“Investment, mostly. In small businesses and startups. In stocks. Pa wants to try real estate,
but I told him there isn’t much return in that. It’s the one thing we butt heads over.” He smiles
fondly, twirling noodles on his fork. “But all our money is separate now, so I spend mine on
fast cars and a very spoiled stripper, and he spends his on farmland in Mexico and Ma.”

Regulus stills with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I am not spoiled,” he argues, only for all
of his friends to burst out laughing. “What? I’m not!”

“Sure you’re not, Mr. Milan,” teases Marlene. “Where will you go next, I wonder… The
Swiss Alps? Barcelona? Maybe a weekend in the Parisian countryside? Don’t forget us when
you’re rolling naked in all of your riches.”

“I hate you all.” He points his fork at James. “You’re not safe from that, by the way.”

James winks at him but doesn’t bother to bite back his smile.

“What do you like to do for fun?” asks Lily. “Do you have any hobbies? Do you like sports?
What about books? I hope you read, because Reggie loves reading. Do you have a favorite
book or—”

“Jesus, Lils,” Regulus says, throwing her an exasperated look over his shoulder. “This isn’t
an interrogation.”

“Uh, yes, it is,” she retorts haughtily. “We still need to make sure he isn’t a weirdo, liar, or ax
murderer.”
“Bit of a jump there, don’t you think?”

James pushes off the counter to get himself a second helping. “I have friends,” he says, piling
noodles on his plate before he settles back in his spot. “You can all meet them someday.
They’re great. And I like sports. I played a bit of rugby during secondary school. Boxed a
little in uni, but it wasn’t serious. I read. I like films. Concerts are fun.”

“All good things,” Evan says with an approving nod. “I think we’re safe, Lils. He doesn’t
give me ax murderer vibes.”

“That’s a relief.” James grins crookedly before turning to his noodles.

It goes like this for a while. Regulus’ friends are full of questions even he didn’t think to ask
James. They ask about his favorite colors and why, the worst places he’s ever vacationed, and
his opinion on the King. Not a fan, he says easily, and all of Regulus’ friends nod
approvingly, as if this is the most serious question of them all.

The conversation lulls once they’re all stuffed full of Pad Thai. Regulus offers to help Dorcas
with the dishes so Marlene can help Pandora pick out a film, and Lily shoos everyone out of
the kitchen so she make a charcuterie board for them to munch on while they watch tonight’s
movie. Except for Barty and James, the rest of Regulus’ friends escape into the living room.

“Here, Jamie,” Barty says, holding out a cold beer for James. “Can I call you Jamie?”

James takes the bottle with an easy smile. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Barty blinks, startled. He doesn’t move even when James crowds close to him to set the rim
of the bottle against the counter. He slams the heel of his palm down to pop the cap, which
earns him an appreciative whistle. “Neat trick,” Barty says.

“A friend taught it to me during uni. I partied a little.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Almost got me in trouble a few times.”

At Dorcas’ insistence that she’s fine, Regulus slips out of the kitchen to join Evan where he
sits on a stool by the high counter. It overlooks where Lily furiously prepares her charcuterie
board, which includes her infamous chocolate-covered strawberries. Regulus barely escapes
her wicked slap but still manages to snag one.

“What kind of trouble?” asks Barty skeptically.

“All sorts,” James replies, taking a seat on the barstool next to Regulus. “Almost got myself
kicked out one year.”

“What?” Regulus gapes at him. “You didn’t tell me that!”

James shrugs sheepishly. “You haven’t really asked me much about my uni days, so it hasn’t
come up.”
“Okay, but I definitely want to know what you did to get kicked out.”

“No, no. I almost got kicked out. But I was very charming and managed to convince them to
let me stay.” He smiles, and Regulus knows without needing to ask that it’s the exact one he
used on his professors to get himself out of trouble. “Can I have a bite?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No. Get your own, troublemaker. But good luck. Lily has a wicked
backhand.”

James hooks a hand behind Regulus’ knee to pull him to the edge of his seat. He leans over to
nuzzle behind Regulus’ ear and says in a low voice, “Wasn’t talking about the strawberry.”

“Alcohol makes you very flirty,” Regulus whispers, pushing at his chest.

“Among other things. C’mere.”

Feigning reluctance, Regulus slides off his stool and climbs into James’ lap. “You smell like
beer.” He wrinkles his nose when James breathes in his face intentionally. “Blegh. Tequila is
better. Whiskey is best.”

James snorts a laugh. “Sorry, love. I’ll remember that for next time.”

“You ever been high before?” asks Barty suddenly, his expression still skeptical. He manages
to snatch his own chocolate-covered strawberry, but doesn’t escape Lily’s well-placed punch
to his bicep. “Ouch, Evans.”

“Paws off, Crouch,” she says, pointing a knife at him.

He sulks where he leans against the counter, but his sharp eyes settle on James again. “Well,
Jamie? Have you?”

James keeps a thumb hooked through one of Regulus’ belt loops, tugging every so often. “I
have, yeah,” he admits slowly. “Why?”

“Just wondering. You don’t seem like the type to smoke weed. You’re too…pretty.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying—you don’t seem the type.”

Evan sighs next to Regulus. “He’s goading you. It’s what he does. You can ignore him.”

“It’s only a simple observation,” Barty argues petulantly.

Regulus expects James to heed Evan’s advice, if only because they’re all full of food and
ready to wind down for the evening. Pandora sounds like she’s close to deciding between
three movies, and Lily is nearly finished with her charcuterie board.

So it surprises him when James says, “I’ll prove it to you, if you want me to.”
This piques Barty’s interest, and his dark eyes light up with mischief. “Oh? I didn’t mean it as
a challenge, but I won’t say no, either.”

“You know what? Fuck it. I’ll get high with you.” James tugs on Regulus’ belt loop and
drops his voice to add, “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“It’s fine,” Regulus assures him. “Actually, count me in, too.”

“And me!” Pandora pipes up from the living room. “Barty always has the good stuff.”

Regulus sits back on his stool and swivels to rest his elbows behind him on the high counter.
He kicks his foot out to poke at James’ ass when he stands. “Know any tricks?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Just make Barty eat his words.”

James’ smile brightens, and he drops a quick kiss to Regulus’ forehead before sitting on the
sofa. Barty drops a small baggie full of weed on the coffee table, and he sets another baggie
down with rolling papers.

“Go on, then. Show me what you’re made of,” he taunts, leaning back with his arms crossed.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?” whispers Evan out of the corner of his mouth. When
Regulus turns to him with a smile, he laughs. “Yeah, I knew it. I hope James at least gives us
a good show.”

Regulus is loath to admit the sight of James expertly rolling a joint in the middle of his best
friends’ flat is one of the most attractive things he’s seen him do. It’s in the top five, at least.
His shoulders are relaxed, his expression neutral but focused. He’s unconcerned with the
heavy weight of Barty’s curious gaze.

When he’s finished rolling, he runs his tongue along the edge of the paper to wet the glue,
then seals it with his finger. He smiles proudly and holds it up to Barty with an arched brow.
“Well?”

“Now you smoke it.” Barty passes him a lighter.

“I’ve got a trick I can show you,” James says easily, setting the end of the joint between his
lips. “If you’re not too scared.”

“Scared of what?”

James nods to the space between his spread legs and flicks the lighter. “You should probably
kneel for this. It’ll be easier.”

“For what?”

“Just do it.”
“You want me on my knees that bad, Potter?”

“You’re not complaining, Crouch.” James smiles around the joint between his teeth, flame
flickering close to the end of it. “Or are you really scared of a simple little trick?”

Barty narrows his eyes and looks to Regulus. “What is he planning?”

“Hell if I know,” he replies with an easy shrug.

“Why won’t you just smoke the damn—”

“We can’t have fun if you keep talking.” James lights the joint, and Regulus has to bite the
inside of his cheeks to hold in his laughter when Barty’s mouth snaps shut with an audible
click. Even Evan has to cover his laugh with a cough.

The whole room holds its breath when Barty slowly kneels between James’ legs. He watches
James like a hawk, his expression still skeptical. James inhales smoke deep into his lungs,
then holds the joint away from him. With his other hand, he reaches out to curl his fingers
under Barty’s chin.

“No way,” Evan whispers, and Regulus would voice his mutual surprise if he wasn’t so
caught up in the scene unfolding in front of him.

James’ grip on Barty’s chin is rough. It’s not exactly nice, and it forces Barty’s lips to part.
His eyes are wild, flicking back and forth between James’. He lets himself be tugged forward,
lets James tilt his head. “Shit,” he breathes when James’ lips ghost over his.

The room is silent except for a Netflix preview that loops on the TV. Regulus and all of his
friends watch thick smoke drift from James’ mouth into Barty’s. It swirls in the hair’s breadth
of space between them until Barty’s inhaled all of it in. His eyes are wide, caught in James’
stare, and he makes a soft, surprised little noise.

Without warning, James flicks his tongue out to catch Barty’s top lip. His grin is devastating
when he whispers, “Perdiste.”

Regulus nearly falls off the barstool and melts into a puddle on the floor. The girls erupt into
a chorus of excited wolf whistles, shouting, “Again! Again! Do it again!”

James gives Barty’s head a small shake, his smile turning cheeky and almost warm. “Believe
me now?”

“Give him a second. He’s still catching up. Shit, so am I,” Evan says in a pained voice. A
sidelong glance tells Regulus that Evan is in the same position he is—desperately trying to
hide the slight bulge in his jeans.

Barty is on his feet a second later. He wobbles, blinks furiously, and points an accusing finger
at Regulus, then at James. “You two are fucking with me, aren’t you? There’s no way—You
have to be fucking with me. Because what the bloody hell was that?”

“I can’t believe you’d think so little of us,” Regulus replies airily, waving a dismissive hand.
“Bullshit. Don’t gaslight me!” Barty stomps into the kitchen to grab himself another beer,
scowling at James who laughs on the sofa, the joint back between his lips. He blows smoke
from the sides of his mouth, his eyes already a bit glassy.

“Baby,” he says slowly, drawing out the vowels. “C’mere.”

Regulus slides off his stool and crosses the short distance to slip into James’ lap. “Do me
next,” he says, nodding to the joint. “But better.”

James’ answering chuckle comes from deep in his chest, but he does as Regulus asks of him.
He plucks the joint from his lips and pulls Regulus to him with a hand in his curls, smiling in
a lopsided, drug-laced way Regulus has never seen before.

The kiss isn’t quite a kiss, but rather tongues meeting between open mouths. They curl
around each other, and Regulus is dizzy from this alone. Even before the smoke slips into his
mouth and he inhales it into his lungs, he feels higher than he’s ever been. He holds James’
gaze as he exhales, smiling slowly to match James’ broad grin.

“Whoa,” he says, warm from head to toe.

“Fun, isn’t it?”

“Gimme that,” Pandora says, snatching the joint from James’ fingertips. “Me and Lily need
to try. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Lily! I hope you’re finished with that
charcuterie board!”

James leans forward to loop his arms around Regulus’ waist. “I’m so fucking high,” he
mumbles nonsensically, kissing Regulus, whose lips are already a bit fuzzy.

“I can see that.”

“It’s good stuff. Strong. Strong stuff.” James buries his face in Regulus’ neck and inhales
deep. “God, you smell good. Do you always smell like this?”

“Yes.”

“Brilliant.” He tugs Regulus forward until they’re chest to chest, then turns their bodies so
Regulus is underneath him. They kiss slow, unhurried. “Mm. This is nice. I’m—”

“Oi!” Evan shouts, tossing a pillow directly at James’ head. “No fucking on the sofa.”

Regulus blinks through the haze steadily clouding his mind. “So we can fuck…not on the
sofa?”

“No.”

“But you said—”

“No.”
James’ face wrinkles with confusion. “Wait—No what?”

“Oh, my God,” Evan says with an exasperated sigh. “Pandora, give me that. I can’t deal with
high people unless I’m also high. It makes my brain hurt.”

They pass the joint around until Lily sets her charcuterie board on the coffee table. She drops
beside Pandora on the floor and holds out a hand to take the joint from Evan. James has
maneuvered himself behind Regulus so they’re cuddled on the sofa, his hand splayed over
Regulus’ abdomen underneath his jumper.

“So warm,” James murmurs, burying his nose in Regulus’ curls. “Gonna stay here forever.”

“Fucking hope not,” says Evan. “This flat isn’t big enough for four people to be living in it.”

Lily eventually chooses The Proposal, saying, “We’re all high enough that this is about to be
the funniest thing we’ve ever watched.”

She’s not wrong. Regulus laughs until his stomach hurts and there are tears in his eyes.
Behind him, James pushes up to rest his cheek on his fist. His lips graze Regulus’ shoulder
every so often, and his hand doesn’t stray from where it rests beneath Regulus’ jumper.

The living room is thick with laughter, and Regulus smiles so wide his cheeks hurt for hours.

The moon is high in the sky when Regulus slips one of James’ thin shirts over his head. It’s
too big, and the hem falls to mid-thigh, but it’s incredibly soft. Water drips from his curls
onto his shoulders and darkens the moss green fabric. He sifts through his drawer in James’
dresser to find a new pair of briefs, then checks his reflection in the full length mirror in
James’ walk in closet.

His neck is a mess of bruises and bites. Some will fade by the morning, but he’ll have to
cover up the rest before work. Despite this, he smirks at the sight of them.

It’s been a few hours since they came home. They stumbled through the front door attached
by their mouths, tugging at shirts and buttons and zippers and everything in the way of skin
on skin. Regulus spent the entire drive home with his lips on James’ ear and the heel of his
hand pressed against the growing bulge in James’ jeans.

His high wore off well before they left Evan and Barty’s flat, but there was still a little
something left over in Regulus to buoy him. It made him lighter, more daring, and he
murmured every filthy thing he could think of in James’ ear.

The filthier he got, the more James growled low under his breath. Cut it out, Princess, he said
with his hand gripping Regulus’ jaw. They were at a stoplight, the red glow illuminating one
half of James’ face. His eyes were wild, the irises swallowed by depthless black pupils. Cut it
out, or I’ll pull this car over and fuck you right here.
But the light turned green, and Regulus went back to taunting him.

Once they were through the front door, they barely made it to the couch before James had
two fingers in Regulus’ mouth—get filthy with it, baby—and his heavy, full cock in his hand.
It was wild sex, rough and greedy and bruising, and Regulus laughed, giddier than he’s ever
been, when thin lines of red bloomed on James’ back from his nails.

When they were finished and James stood under the shower stream with a pained expression,
Regulus grinned with all of his teeth.

“Sadist,” James had muttered, though he mirrored Regulus’ smile. He rolled his shoulders
and hissed. “Christ, love, it feels like you shredded my back to ribbons.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s fine. I like it.”

Regulus had snickered and said, “Masochist,” to which James merely replied with a wink.

Now, he pads softly down the hall and into the living room. James sits on the sofa in nothing
but his briefs and a pair of cartoon Spider-Man socks, his arms stretched over the back
cushions and one leg bent to tuck his foot underneath him. He lolls his head to the side when
Regulus walks in.

“Hi, baby. How was the rest of your shower?”

“Good. It stayed hot this time.”

“It’s a miracle what happens when you don’t stay in there for twenty years.”

He flips James his middle finger before shuffling into the kitchen. “What are you watching?”
he asks, turning the tap to pour water in a glass.

“House of the Dragon.”

“Team Black or Green?”

James sucks his teeth, then says, “Black.”

“Good answer. You won’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.” Regulus nearly spits out his
water when James whirls around, mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

“This is my flat!”

“I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“What if I had said Team Green? I don’t hate Alicent. She’s just making the best out of a bad
situation. Otto sucks, though.”

Regulus looks pointedly at the sofa.

“Unbelievable. You’re such a brat.”

“I am what you made me.”

James scoffs, rolls his eyes, and turns back to his show with an exaggerated huff.

“I feel like you should be partial to Team Black anyway, considering my name and all,”
Regulus quips. He refills his glass and heads into the living room. Gently, he nudges James’
leg out of the way so he can sit down between the sofa and coffee table in front of him.

The Lego set is only half-finished. He reaches for the next packet and rips it open with his
teeth while the end of the episode plays on TV. James’ left leg presses against his arm. It isn’t
enough to restrict his movement, but it lets him know James is there while they sit in easy
silence. Regulus manages to finish one packet before the credits roll. He’s reaching for
another when James clears his throat.

“Reg, love, can I—Uh, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.” He rips open the second packet and pours its contents out on the table. “What’s up?”

“Tonight… With your friends? I—I noticed something. It’s small, but I wanted to ask you
about it… But if you’re not comfortable, then that’s completely fine.”

Regulus’ stomach flips, but he says, “Spit it out. I won’t know what it is unless you ask.”

“I, uh… It confused me at first, because I wasn’t sure what they meant, but I noticed your
friends use different pronouns than I do when they talk about you. I didn’t think anything of
it, but they kept doing it and I realized and… I guess I just want to make sure I’m not doing
anything wrong. Is this coming out right? I feel like it’s not and—”

“James, it’s fine. We can talk about it. I’ve been meaning to mention it, but…” He trails off,
focused narrowed to the countless pieces spread out in front of him, the half-finished building
still missing windows. His heart beats an unsteady rhythm, but the press of James’ leg
grounds him. He has no idea where to start, so he asks, “Do you have a label? On what you
are, I mean.”

“Not really.” James runs his fingers through Regulus’ damp curls, almost as though he’s
brushing them. “I’ve slept with men and women. Dated both, too. I’m not picky. Well, I’m
picky. Just not when it comes to what’s between a person’s legs.”

“That’s good.” Regulus fiddles with two pieces before clicking them together. “Did you
always know?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s not like I woke up one day and thought, ‘You know what? Today
is the day I suck dick for the first time.’”

“Actually, I feel like that sort of tracks for you.” James flicks him, and Regulus giggles. It
eases some of the tightness that’s built up in his chest.
“I’m serious! It just…happened. I think I—Shit, how did it happen?” James blows air past his
lips, then says, “Oh, right. Some guy at a party. I think I was fifteen? Anyway, we kissed on a
dare, but I liked it. He liked it. We kept kissing… Didn’t think much about it after that. I just
kissed whoever I wanted.”

“Did they fall all over themselves for a chance to kiss the James Potter?” teases Regulus,
snickering when James flicks him again.

“Not all of them,” he says. “Just most of them.”

Regulus makes a gagging noise and James laughs, but their humor dwindles after a moment.

“I figured it out pretty late,” Regulus admits quietly. “Well, I accepted it late. I grew up in a
house that wasn’t safe. My parents would’ve never accepted me, so I hid it from them. From
myself, too. They still don’t accept me, but I’m out of there now, so it is what it is.”

“They shouldn’t have made you feel that way. It’s fucked up.”

Regulus hums his agreement. “I dated a few girls to keep their suspicions down, but it felt
like I was trying on a pair of pants two sizes too small. I kissed a boy for the first time when I
was seventeen and that’s when I thought, ‘Yeah, this is it.’ But I couldn’t have him in the
open, so it didn’t last.”

James winds one of Regulus’ curls around his finger. “They know now, though. When did
you tell them?”

“I didn’t. Maman came home early and caught me and a friend making out in my room.”
Regulus shudders at the memory. It took almost two weeks for the bruises his father gave him
to heal. “I ran away shortly after, so I guess it doesn’t matter in the end. But once I was on
my own, I didn’t have to force myself into a box that felt right for other people for the first
time in my life.”

“What about your brother? Did he know?”

“He had it a little easier. Sirius could do both, so I think he was able to hide the one side
better. I couldn’t.”

“That’s okay,” James says, winding another curl around his finger. “I think everyone has a
preference. Some more than others. Hell, even I have a preference.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. You.”

Regulus shoves his leg, laughing despite himself. “Shut up. Don’t be cheesy when I’m being
serious!”

“Sorry, love. Just wanted to hear you laugh a bit.” James drops a kiss into his hair, then settles
back against the couch. “Keep going. I’m listening.”
“Anyway, the point is it’s not like I was openly gay the second I was free of them. It took me
a little while to come out.” Regulus reaches for a few more pieces to start the next step. He
organizes them meticulously; the repetitive motion steadies his racing heart. Vulnerability has
never been his strength, but he continues, “So to answer your question about the pronouns—
that’s new. Or relatively recent, I guess.”

A stone sits in his throat, heavy and difficult to swallow around. James’ fingers brush through
his curls again. On the TV, Netflix sits waiting for one of them to start the next episode. The
room is silent except for the steady thrum of his pulse in his ears.

“My parents dictated my whole life from the moment I was born. Because of that, even after
all this time on my own, I’m still figuring out who I am. Who I want to be.”

It’s strange how easy the words come now that he’s saying them, like the floodgates have
opened. Not because he’s comfortable letting all of this out, but because the warmth of
James’ leg against his arm and the continued brush of fingers through his hair makes him
feel…centered. It feels good to answer honestly, to lay the whole truth out, even if he himself
isn’t sure exactly what shape that truth is meant to take.

“When I started stripping, I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to suck at this because I’m not
big and muscular like those guys in the strip shows.’ You know, the ones who kinda look like
you?”

James chuckles softly. “You’re flattering me.”

“Just wanted to hear you laugh.” This earns him a gentle tug on his hair. “What I do is very
different from that. It took me a little while to find my style, but I combined it with the ballet
I learned as a kid, took some pole classes… I realized the style I felt most comfortable with
was more feminine. I started to feel like I can be masculine off stage, but on stage, I can be
something else.”

“For what it’s worth, you do both really fucking well,” James says. “It’s what drew me to
you. I walked in and you were just so—so confident up there. Like you were daring anyone
to try and deny you’re beautiful. And I remember the first time I saw you walk out of the
back rooms in your Docs. You were dressed like you were tonight, and I was a goner. That
moment is definitely imprinted on my brain. Forever.”

Regulus leans his cheek on James’ knee, fighting a smile. “You had it that bad, huh?”

“I wanted to call you pretty and handsome and beautiful all at the same fucking time,” James
admits with a laugh. “My head got really cloudy trying to process it.”

“Maybe it was the whiskey.”

“No. Trust me, it was you.”

Regulus fights the urge to get up and crawl in James’ lap. He needs to get this all out first
while he still has the courage and momentum. “Me and Sirius have always had androgynous
features, so I think I just started leaning into that more after I started stripping. Masculinity,
femininity—I realized I can do both, and there are no boxes I have to exist in.”

James leans forward to rest his arms on Regulus’ shoulders and his chin on top of Regulus’
head. His breathing is slow and steady. He fiddles with the pieces forgotten in Regulus’
hands.

“I’m still not publicly comfortable with it, though. It feels a little like when I first got out of
my parents’ house. I’m working on it in stages. I have to understand it myself first. But I told
my friends, and that’s why they mix up how they refer to me. Pandora coined it ‘gender baby
steps.’ With them, I feel safe to do that. I can be me, no matter what that looks like on any
given day.”

“Do you have a preference?” asks James.

“Not really. Not yet. I like both right now. I still use ‘he’ to refer to myself, but I prefer ‘they’
with other people. It’s like… No one else can put me in a box. Only I can, if I want to—or
not. I get to decide. I don’t really know what to call it yet. Lily thinks ‘genderfluid’ might be
the best way to describe it, so I’ve been going with that. Not sure yet, though.”

James hums, lips pressed into his curls so he feels the vibration. “Then I’ll use ‘they’ like
your friends, but you tell me if that changes. Okay? You can try out whatever you want with
me. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Just let me know. If you don’t like something, or if you want to try something
different…”

A different kind of stone lodges in Regulus’ throat this time. He swallows around it the best
he can and whispers, “Thank you.” A hand curls under his jaw to tilt his head back, and he
looks up into earnest eyes.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t as terrifying as I hyped it up to be.”

“Good.”

Regulus smiles when James kisses him. It’s upside-down, and the angle is slightly awkward,
but he doesn’t mind. When he pulls away, James asks, “Are you tired, or can we watch
another episode? There are only a few more.”

“I can do another. I want to finish one more packet before we go to bed.”

“Perfect. Oh, did you know the person who plays Rhaenyra is nonbinary? I found that out the
other day.”

“Yeah, I follow them on Instagram,” Regulus says, and James scoffs.

 “You don’t follow me on Instagram.”

“That’s because you post one picture every ten years. It’s a miracle you have followers at all.
Play the episode.”

“Follow me on Instagram.”

Regulus elbows James’ leg. “Episode. Now.”

“I’m going. The remote fell between the cushions. Wait one bloody second.” Under his
breath, he mumbles, “Brat.” He continues to grumble while he searches, but he must find it
because eventually the opening credits of the next episode roll. He tangles his fingers in
Regulus’ curls again, resting comfortably behind him on the sofa.

Something cracks open inside Regulus as he replays their conversation while piecing the
Lego set together. He doesn’t pay much attention to the show; he watched it months ago with
the girls. Instead, he thinks of their night, of how James laughed with his friends and teased
Barty so easily and cuddled with him on the couch without a care for who saw. He thinks of
you can try whatever you want with me, and trust me, it was you.

It’s terrifying, really, to acknowledge it.

But he has to when he’s sat between James’ legs in the middle of a living room he’s more
comfortable in than his own. When he’s practically living in a flat he doesn’t pay for with a
man who only ever tells him to stay another night, and another, and one more, baby, please
don’t go back to yours yet.

Because there is no danger of possibility that he’ll fall in love with James.

The terrifying truth is that he already is.

Chapter End Notes

one of my favorite things about Regulus in this story is how personal his journey feels. i
think sometimes even queer people forget that our identities are like us as humans in
general — constantly evolving, shifting, adapting. we learn something new about
ourselves every single day. some of us are lucky enough to make discoveries early,
while others don't make these discoveries until we're much older and in safe spaces that
give us an opportunity to grow.

Regulus is someone who grew up in a household that stifled him, and it unfortunately
created a lot of internalized homophobia that he had to work through. and now that he's
in a better place, he's finding out more things about himself. he's realizing he might be
genderfluid, maybe non-binary, but he's figuring out exactly where those parameters lie
for him. there's no "correct" way to GenderTM. there's what feels right and comfortable
for the person who's living that experience.
i also don't plan to write Regulus as experiencing gender dysphoria. if anything, he's
gender euphoric (hence the tags). he's not uncomfortable in his skin as it is, but rather
he's also comfortable with other things. and these are things he never gave himself a
chance to explore but can now that he's older and in a safer environment.

a few have asked about this, but Regulus will continue to use he/him pronouns, since
this is his POV. but those close to him will use they/them. also, we get some of him
exploring gender expression and having fun with it now that he's been open with James.
this Regulus is very important to me as someone still working through their own
identity/expression, so the scene with him and James in this chapter was very cathartic
for a whole host of personal reasons.

look! no angst still! i'm being so nice to y'all!

 out of reach, out of touch
Chapter Notes

please know i cried real and very big tears over the comments on ch 11 re: Reg's gender

you did make me cry which rude, but turnabout is (almost) fair play 🖤
discussion with James and his journey. i'm sending all of you so much love even though
also sorry this is
a bit late (again), but after my car took a nosedive my water heater followed close
behind and i realized maybe life needed to take me for a spin for a sec. but we're good
now, so enjoy!

cw recreational drug use

See the end of the chapter for more notes

If you asked Regulus to tell you his name at this exact moment in time, the probability he
would be able to provide you with an answer is fairly close to zero.

There’s nothing but static between his ears. All he knows are the tears drying in streaks on his
cheeks, the spit-soaked pillow between his teeth, the silk tied around his wrists, and James,
James, James—who has made his ass so red and raw he won’t sit comfortably for days.

He chokes on a strangled sob when James’ hand comes down sharply on his left cheek and
then his right. Each hit is punctuated by a hard, fast snap of James’ hips, and he buries
himself so deep Regulus feels it in his throat.

“You always take me like a fucking dream,” James says, his voice strained. His hand curls
under Regulus’ hips to prevent him from sliding forward, to keep his ass up so James can
continue painting it crimson. “Can’t believe I’m this goddamn lucky.”

Regulus takes a shuddering breath. Squeezes his eyes shut. His lashes clump together, and the
eyeliner he put on this morning streaks with his tears. He knows he’s a mess, but James made
him this way.

James wants him this way.

Suddenly, everything slows. James shifts from hard and fast to soft and languid. He presses
the pad of his thumb to Regulus’ rim, rubbing gently at the stretched muscle, and hums under
his breath. Regulus’ heart leaps into his throat.

“Everything about you is just so pretty,” James murmurs, but he chuckles when Regulus cries
out; it’s a hoarse, worn sound. “What is it, love?”
“I—I can’t,” he gasps when James pushes his thumb in with his cock. The stretch is a
delicious burn, but Regulus still thrashes against his binds. “It’s too much, it’s too—Oh, God.
I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.” James’ voice is stern. It leaves no room for argument, and Regulus
stills.

His jaw aches from how hard he bites down on the pillow. He pushes his hips back, asking
for more, and James replaces his thumb with his index finger. Then slowly, slowly, so fucking
slowly, he works his middle finger in, too.

“Take it, Princess,” he says gently. “I know you can. Already so full of me, but you’re still
asking for more.” Without warning, he drags Regulus upright by his hair. He whimpers, and
the pillow falls from between his teeth. James’ hot breath blows over his already burning
skin. “You’re very greedy, love.”

“Is that a—fuck—a problem?” Regulus adjusts so his hands aren’t wedged between his back
and James’ abdomen. He trails his fingers over taut muscle, pleased when James hisses at the
touch. “I thought you liked me greedy, daddy.”

James laughs through his nose. Everything is hot, so hot, so bloody— “I wouldn’t want you
any other way. Actually, I need to hear you beg a little more before this is done.”

He loosens his grip on Regulus’ curls and lets him drop back to the bed with a huff. Regulus
has never felt so simultaneously used and cherished. He shivers, pleasure ripping through
him from head to toe when James brushes a knuckle along his shaft.

“Please,” he begs, just as he has for hours. “Please, papi, please, I’m—”

All he gets in return is the loss of James’ touch, the loss of more, and a sharp, brutal thrust.
“No,” James says simply, and Regulus’ head spins right off his shoulders.

It’s been like this since James came home.

Classes were canceled today, so Regulus spent most of his afternoon curled up on the sofa
with a book, or deep in his assignments, or fiddling with his half-finished Lego set. James
had to go into the office early, but Regulus didn’t mind a quiet Thursday in James’ flat.

He jumped in the shower once James texted he was on his way home, and by the time
Regulus went back into the living room, curls still dripping water on his bare shoulders,
James was there. He sat on the couch with a crimson tie wrapped around his fist and that
languid, up-to-no-good grin on his face. A slim collar made of soft pink leather rested on the
cushion beside him. Regulus’ eyes went straight to it, and James’ grin grew tenfold.

“Hi, baby. Ven aquí,” he’d said, patting his thigh, and even though Regulus didn’t understand
the words, he understood that gesture well enough. “How was your shower?”

“Good. Refreshing. How was your day?”

James didn’t answer at first. Instead, he dragged Regulus forward until he straddled James’
thighs. Their kisses were deep but lazy, and peppered by James softly whispering better now
and missed you and kept thinking about you here all alone.

But if there is one thing Regulus has learned, it’s that James is sweet—until he’s not.

“What’s this?” Regulus asked, reaching for the soft leather collar. He fiddled with the silver
hardware, the delicate buckle. “Is this for me?”

“Sometimes. If you want it to be.” James rubbed his thumb up the length of Regulus’ throat.
His pupils were blown, the black of them depthless. Regulus would fall right into them if he
wasn’t careful.

“You’re imagining me wearing it, aren’t you?”

A crooked, mischievous smile. “Might be.”

This is how Regulus found himself laid over James’ thighs with silk tying his hands behind
him; a plug teasing his hole, urging it to stretch; and bright red handprints on his ass. He
squirmed and begged and lost himself until James fucked him right there on the sofa—still in
that fine, near-black Tom Ford suit of his, with the trousers pushed down just enough to free
his cock for Regulus to seat himself on it.

It was wild and messy sex, especially for a Thursday afternoon. The sun still shone through
the floor to ceiling windows of James’ flat. Its rays caught strands of dark hair, turned them a
bit golden, and Regulus ached to run his fingers through them and tug.

James switched genteel words for filth, for praise, for more filth. He slipped a finger under
the leather around Regulus’ throat to tug him forward and lick into his mouth, grinning like
he’d won some sort of prize.

But the true surprise wasn’t the new collar or James’ rough hands and obscene words.

It was James burying himself to the hilt when he came, pulling out quickly, and pushing the
plug in before a drop could spill. He lifted Regulus off his lap, nipped at the industrial in his
ear, whispered, “Keep all that safe for me, would you, love?” and then—left.

He left Regulus shivering on the sofa with his hands still tied behind his back, feet
underneath him and knees spread. His damn teeth hurt from how close his orgasm had been
before James ripped it away. His cock curved up to his stomach; it was untouched, heavy, and
leaking from the tip. He ached.

But James left him there and showered, poured himself a glass of neat whiskey, answered a
business call. He sat on the sofa next to Regulus with his phone tucked between his ear and
shoulder, and a glass of amber liquid perched on one knee. He spread his legs, laughed at
something said over the phone, glanced sidelong, and jerked his chin at the floor.

Go, he mouthed, and Regulus’ core burned.

Lube and spit coated the insides of his thighs, everything sticky, but he did as he was told. He
unfolded from the couch and sank to the floor to kneel between James’ knees. He rested a
cheek on the inside of James’ thigh, the cotton joggers soft on his burning skin, and let his
lashes flutter when fingers brushed through his sweaty curls.

He hadn’t realized the call was over until James murmured, “Oh, pet. You’re a mess, aren’t
you?”

Regulus’ cheeks burst into flame. He didn’t answer at first, but James tugged on his curls
gently. “Yes,” he croaked.

“Should I let you come?” James sipped his whiskey without a care for how Regulus
whimpered between his legs. “Maybe not. I don’t know if you deserve it.”

Regulus yelped when once-gentle fingers fisted in his curls to drag him up on his knees. He
fell forward into James, his balance off without the use of his hands. A touch ghosted over
the reddened, sensitive curve of his ass, and his eyes rolled back when James leaned forward
to push on the translucent pink, heart-shaped glass base of the plug.

“You were just such a brat this morning,” James said evenly, his lips moving over Regulus’
collarbone. “Brats don’t deserve to come.”

“I wasn’t a brat,” he scoffed, indignant. “You were just being annoying and—”

James cut him off with a weighty sigh. He set his whiskey on the end table with only a sliver
of amber left at the bottom. Then he hauled Regulus up on the couch to maneuver him on his
knees, forcing them apart where they rested on the cushion’s edge.

It put all of him on display for James’ hungry gaze.

James pushed his joggers down around his thighs and gripped his cock to rest it in the cleft of
Regulus’ ass. “I know I can break you,” he murmured, reaching to grip Regulus’ curls again
and haul his head back. It forced him to arch, to look up at high ceilings. James’ breath blew
hot over his ear, the smell of top-shelf whiskey intoxicating.

He whimpered when James pulled the plug from his ass, but James didn’t leave him empty
for long. He thumbed the head of his cock past Regulus’ rim, then sunk into him in one
smooth, long thrust.

“Oh, you are wet,” James marveled, and Regulus could only huff an incredulous laugh.

“I wonder why.”

The snark earned him a sharp smack on his left cheek. It earned him emptiness until James
pushed into him again. The living room spun from the direct hit to that damned bundle of
nerves, and he was right there again—tasting the edge James wouldn’t give him before.

“Keep it up with the attitude if you want. I can go all night, Princess,” said James in his easy,
amused way. Like he was having fun pushing Regulus until he shook, only to rip him away
from relief.
“James—”

“Not right now. C’mon, baby. You know better.”

Oh.

Regulus’ toes curled, his head spun, and James fucked into him with an animalistic sort of
need. But James’ words were sweet and gentle, the contrast a thrill shooting straight through
Regulus’ core. He begged shamelessly, tried every weapon he had from daddy to papi to all I
want is for you to fill me, but still his cock remained untouched, making a mess of the
cushions, and James laughed.

Laughed, stopped moving until Regulus stopped shaking—and only began again when he
was satisfied Regulus was no longer close to climax.

Time blurred, lost its meaning, but somewhere in the haze, James came with a satisfied
groan. It was too warm, too wet, everything too much, but before Regulus could make sense
of it, James pulled out and easily slid the plug back in.

He collapsed on the sofa and tucked himself in his joggers. His eyes were hazy with pleasure,
and he looked sidelong at Regulus with a cheeky grin. “Wanna watch something? We still
have a few more House of the Dragon episodes.”

“I—What the fuck?” Regulus snapped. He was level with James, who blinked at him with
wide, innocent eyes. “What are you playing at?”

“Not a clue what you’re on about. We watching an episode?”

This is how it’s been for an indeterminable amount of time. But the sun is no longer in the
sky; moonlight shines through James’ bedroom windows, where Regulus is no less a mess
than he was on the sofa. His thighs are sticky, and his cheeks are wet with tears. His curls
stick to his forehead, his skin is sweat-slicked—and still James won’t let him come.

“Please, daddy,” he begs anew when James ghosts knuckles down his shaft again. “Just—
Fuck, let me—”

“No.”

Regulus jolts from another sharp crack on his ass. Pain and pleasure mix together in a
delicious cocktail.

“Tell me, love,” James says, dragging Regulus upright to hook an index finger in the collar
around his neck. “What do you want?”

“To come,” he slurs, eyes rolling when James tugs gently on the soft leather. “I want to—”

“No.”

Regulus sobs at another direct hit inside him; James never misses with this angle, but it
doesn’t matter. Strong fingers circle the base of his cock to deny him relief for what feels like
the hundredth time.

“Please,” he chokes, vision slipping. His stomach aches; it’s been tight for so long. “I can’t.
This is too—I just can’t.”

“You can. You just haven’t figured it out.” James’ teeth sink into his shoulder. “What do you
want?”

“I don’t understand. I don’t—I can’t—Oh, God. This is fucking torture. It’s—”

James takes the leather collar between his teeth and tugs, humming under his breath in that
amused way he has for hours, and Regulus squints up at the ceiling like it might hold the
answer. What is he supposed to have figured out? He can’t even think. Not with James filling
him over and over, using him like he’s searching for something Regulus has yet to give up.

James licks a line along his throat from the collar to the underside of his jaw. “You’re so
smart, baby. Brilliant. Such a pretty little thing, too. I’m starting to think you’re messing with
me…”

“I’m not. I don’t know. I can’t think!”

“Fine.” James holds Regulus tight against his chest and sits back on his haunches. The shift
in angle makes Regulus whimper; he feels strung out, his skin stretched thin over his bones.
“Then I won’t do anything. You can just sit here on my cock and think about it.”

Regulus drops his head back on James’ shoulder. “My head is fucking spinning,” he
manages, chest heaving.

“Mm. That’s too bad.” James kisses the curve of his neck, the soft hollow behind his ear, the
sharp line of his shoulder. “I’m at my limit, so if you don’t figure it out, you don’t get to
come tonight.”

“That’s cruel. You’re about to be gone for days.”

“Bummer, innit? So use that big, beautiful brain and think. Or you don’t come.”

Regulus snorts. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Care to see?”

“No.”

“Then think, baby. I’ll wait.”

He shudders when James flicks his nipple, only for James to flatten his palm and slide it
down, down, down to Regulus’ neglected cock. “Don’t,” he wheezes, slightly panicked.
“Please don’t.”

James pauses. “You don’t want to come anymore?”

“I want—” He stops, realizing with a start what James is asking. There’s a giddy sort of
prowess in his tone, as if Regulus has finally, finally handed over what he’s been searching
for this whole time.

Oh, this asshole, he thinks, fighting the urge to say something biting about James’ penchant
for taking Regulus’ control, for winning. Only Regulus’ own giddy glee that he’s got it, that
he’s figured James out, pushes him to give in.

“I don’t,” he says, breathless and too damn sweet. He turns his head to brush his lips over
James’ jaw. He’s as sweaty as Regulus, his skin salty. “I don’t want it.”

“Then what do you want?”

Regulus feels James twitch inside him, and drops his voice low when he whispers, “I’m sorry
I was such a brat this morning.” James’ breath catches in his chest, and Regulus considers
this one his win. But he’ll let James think it’s not—for now. His tone becomes impossibly
sweet when he adds, “I want you to decide if I deserve to come. Can you tell me if I’ve been
good enough?”

“Now was that so hard, Princess?”

But James’ breathing is no longer an even and controlled thing. It’s ragged as his self-control
begins to slip. It’s made worse when Regulus whispers, “No. And I’ll be so good now, I
promise. I’ll do anything you—”

It’s the snap of a rubber band, the obliteration of that last bit of James’ control, and Regulus
finds himself pressed down with a hand between his shoulder blades and a bruising grip on
his hip to hold him still. There’s no finesse anymore; it’s madness instead. He’s delirious,
vision spinning, and some part of him worries James will deny him again just to be cheeky.

Except James doesn’t. He slams into Regulus, every word falling from his lips filthier than
the last, and just like that—Regulus shatters. His stomach tightens almost painfully, all of his
muscles seize, and stars burst behind his eyelids when finally, finally James lets him have
relief.

He’s not sure he’s ever come this hard. Pleasure rips through him violently. For a brief
second, he mourns the duvet. How many times will they wash this damn thing? But then he’s
shuddering, and there’s a burst of warmth deep inside him, the last of what James can offer,
and Regulus thinks he might be too high to come down.

“Oh, God,” he breathes when James pulls out of him with a soft grunt. “Fucking hell.”

James collapses on his back. He stretches his arms out above his head and grins like a cat
lounging in the sun. “Want me to make us cheese toasties?” he asks, and Regulus bursts into
hysterical laughter.

He’s still lying on his chest with his hands behind his back. Cum drips down his thighs.
Everything is drying, his skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, and here James is—asking
him about fucking cheese toasties.
“What? Why are you laughing?” asks James, a slight furrow in his brow. “I thought you liked
cheese toasties.”

“I do, you idiot,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “But my hands are still tied behind my back
and I’m literally dripping cum out of my—”

“God, that’s so hot. Hold on. I need to—”

Regulus rolls his eyes when James gets up to shuffle back behind him, those hazel eyes
glinting with mischief. He waggles his brows, bottom lip between his teeth, and Regulus
mutters, “You’re so gross.”

“I’m not the one covered in layers of cum and spit.”

“What—?!” Regulus wants to whirl around, to glare, but he’s stuck with his knees spread,
thighs aching, and hands tied. He huffs his irritation and wriggles his fingers. “Untie me, you
animal.”

“Maybe later.”

Regulus yelps at the wet slide of a tongue from his balls to the base of his spine. He tries to
scramble away, but James is faster. His fingers dig into Regulus’ hips to hold him still.
“James, stop—!” Regulus writhes under James’ ministrations; he’s on fire, unsure if he’s
embarrassed or pleased. “I’m a mess, and it’s—James Potter!”

This earns him a warm cackle, but James finally relents. He tugs on the silk knot around
Regulus’ wrists, then gently urges him onto his back. He looms over Regulus with that
crooked, dopey grin. “Sorry, baby. Just a little obsessed with you.”

“Yeah, well,” Regulus mutters, shoving at his chest. “Go be obsessed with me in the kitchen
and make us cheese toasties. I’m hungry. And I need a shower.”

“Can we shower together?”

Regulus’ eyes narrow. “Are you going to try and fuck me again?”

“Would that really be so bad?” asks James, ducking to kiss the underside of Regulus’ jaw.
“You’re just so…so…so you.”

“Shut up,” Regulus mutters. His cheeks burn; he knows they’re an embarrassing shade of red.
“I’m serious. I’m going to be sore for days as it is. And you know I have work this weekend.”

James huffs a dry laugh. “And? The whole fucking world needs to know you’re mine.”

“Possessive bastard.” Regulus hooks his ankles together at James’ lower back to pull him
close. “It’s my job. You know this.”

“I do. I don’t care, I promise. I just—I’ll be gone for a few days, and it’s different now
because you’re my boyfriend, and…” James pushes up on his elbows to look down at
Regulus with wide, earnest eyes. “Seriously, baby. I don’t care. I told you nothing has to
change after we made it all official. I’m just…”

“A possessive bastard?”

James makes a face, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes. “A little. Maybe. Yes. It’s the Mexican
in me.”

“I told you I want to dance until the end of the semester. I’m not… I can’t depend on you.
Deposit money in my bank account all you want—”

A snort and an eye roll, but James smiles.

“—but I still want to make my own. It’s important to me that I can do that. That no one can
take it away from me because it’s mine.” He tugs at James’ bottom lip with his thumb,
giggling when James darts forward to take it between his teeth. “Besides, you love reminding
me that I’m a—What is it you call me? Oh, right. A ‘very spoiled stripper.’”

“You are,” James mutters around the tip of Regulus’ thumb. “The most spoiled.”

“Whose fault is that?”

James grins so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Come on, baby. Let’s clean you up.”

Their shower is quick, the water scalding. They kiss lazily under the hot spray until James’
stomach grumbles so loud it echoes off the walls.

“Shocked you haven’t tried to make a meal out of the loofah,” Regulus quips, laughing when
James pretends to chomp on the soaped-up bath sponge, only to divert his attention and sink
his teeth into Regulus’ shoulder instead.

“You sure you don’t want to stay here while I’m in Guadalajara?” asks James once they’re
out and drying off. “You know you’re welcome to. You don’t have to go back to your flat…”

Regulus pauses, his heart in his throat, but quickly recovers. “It’s fine,” he says easily, even
though he wants to say, Yes, please, let me stay here in your space where everything smells
like you and reminds me of you and— “I should go back. I’ve been here for almost a month.
There’s probably three inches of dust on my furniture.”

A frown creases James’ brow. “And you’re positive you don’t want to come with me to
Guadalajara?”

“No,” Regulus says too quickly. He flinches at the disappointment coloring James’
expression before he covers it with feigned neutrality. “It’s your mum’s birthday, James. You
should spend time with your parents. It’s too… It’s too soon. For them to meet me.”

He doesn’t say that the thought of meeting James’ parents makes it impossible for him to
swallow. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know how. He’s not
charming, or charismatic, or someone people usually like. There are too many thorns and
nasty bits for strangers to cut themselves on.
You’ll have to meet them eventually, Reggie, Pandora had told him, to which Regulus merely
said, Maybe.

It’s only been a few months since they met. A little less than two weeks since James dropped
the boyfriend bomb. The potential for this all to blow up in Regulus’ face is still too high.

James tugs on a pair of clean joggers. He nibbles on his bottom lip, that crease still in his
brow, but drops a lingering kiss on Regulus’ forehead. “Okay. But I’ll miss you.”

“I know.” I’ll miss you, too.

“Still want your toastie?”

“God, yes.” Regulus pushes James towards the door, opting for a laugh to ease the tension.
“Chef Potter, make sure it’s not burnt. You know I like the bread golden brown and the
cheese perfectly melted.”

James rolls his eyes, but the tension eases from his shoulders. “Spoiled. Absolutely spoiled
rotten.”

He’s halfway to the door when Regulus calls, “Hey, before you go…” and James looks back
with curiosity in his eyes. His hair is a mess, stuck up in all directions, and his cheeks are
flushed from the heat of their shower. He looks so lovely Regulus’ heart swells.

“Mm? What’s up, love?”

“You can have all of them,” Regulus says coyly, looking up from underneath his lashes. “I
think you’ve earned the rest.”

Confusion clouds James’ features, and Regulus just bloody giggles.

“The pictures, James. You only have a few, but there are so many more. They’ll keep you
company in Mexico since I can’t.”

The confusion clears immediately. James’ grin broadens until his eyes crinkle at the corners,
and he raises his fist in triumph before he declares, “Baby, I’m about to make you the best
cheese toastie you’ve ever had.”

The club is an upside down, kaleidoscope blur of colorful lights and plush red couches. Faces
blend together, all of them more or less the same. They watch with hungry eyes while
Regulus spins to a low, steady beat. He twists and turns with it, his body on autopilot. He
knows his routine like the back of his hand. Hell, he could probably do it in his sleep.

It leaves his mind free to wander.

Tonight’s set is one of James’ favorites. It’s an emerald-colored one-piece with a high
neckline and open front. Thin strips crisscross in a lattice pattern over his chest to hold it all
together. James likes to hook his fingers under the bits of fabric and tug gently until Regulus
falls into his lap.

But he’s not here tonight; he left for Guadalajara yesterday morning. It was kisses all over
Regulus’ face, warm palms cupping his cheeks, and James murmuring, Is it wrong that I
don’t want to go? It’s my mum’s birthday, but I want to stay here. I want you to come with
me. I want—

Regulus had to kiss him quiet or else risk admitting he wanted James to stay, wanted to go
with him, wanted—

Mexico is seven hours behind England, so it was nearly two in the morning when James
called. But Regulus smacked his hand around the space beside his pillow until he managed to
wrangle his phone.

“James?” he’d whispered, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Hi, Princess. What time is it?”

“Mm. Two, I think.”

“Shit. Go back to sleep.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue. Call me when you wake up. I’ve gotta help Pa with some projects anyway, so I
can’t talk long.”

Regulus had only groaned and buried his face in his pillow. It didn’t smell right. None of his
bedding did. “What are you helping him with?”

“Repairs, mostly. But he’s in the process of building a shed near the—What? Why did you
just make that sound? Was that a moan?”

“Maybe.” Regulus didn’t care that his voice was muffled by his pillow. “Will you be
shirtless? In the sun?”

James chuckled, the sound warm and inviting and missed, then said, “Might be.”

“Ugh, that’s better than porn.”

This made James laugh louder, a little brighter, and something in Regulus’ chest ached. “I’ll
send pictures. Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight,” Regulus said, though it was one syllable too short of what he wanted to tell
James.
He woke this morning with a string of selfies in his inbox. He gaped at each one in turn,
zooming until the pixels blurred and practically drooling all over his phone. James was
shirtless in almost all of them—sweaty, golden from an afternoon in the sun, and grinning
wide. His jeans hung sinfully low on his hips, the trail of dark hair disappearing under the
waistband enough to make Regulus moan in the dim light of his bedroom.

He slipped a hand in his briefs, and James answered on the first ring with that smug, knowing
smile in his voice. Then he talked Regulus through an orgasm that probably woke his grumpy
neighbor next door.

It’s afternoon in Mexico now. James is probably working with Monty under the sun. It’s still
winter, but he said this week has been uncharacteristically warm, which works out well for
his dad, who’s pleased to have a little help with his project.

I miss you, but it’s nice to get away from that dreary London weather for a bit, he’d said this
morning when Regulus was still catching his breath. Next time, you’re coming with me.
Please, love. No ifs, ands, or buts. I need to see you under this sun like I need air in my lungs.

Regulus didn’t have the wherewithal to deny James anything in that moment, so he merely
mumbled, Okay.

The song finishes, ripping him from his thoughts, and Regulus twists off the pole in a
smooth, fluid move. He lands gracefully on his feet, gives a demure smile to each of the men
surrounding his stage in turn, then ducks his chin.

Thankfully, he’s finished for the night. There’s another dancer waiting to take his place when
he walks down the short staircase on the side of the stage and to the main floor. He shrugs on
the black silk slip he always wears and makes a beeline for the dressing rooms.

A few men try to snag his attention, but he shakes his head. Mouths, I’m off, and doesn’t let
his steps falter. He’s made more than enough tonight; all he wants is to change, wait for Barty
and Evan to finish their shifts, and spend time with his friends.

He’s nearly finished lacing up his Docs when there’s a knock on his dressing room door.

“Come in,” he calls, straightening with a sigh. “I’m decent.”

It could be any one of the dancers—plenty of them like to hang around after their shifts for a
chat, though Regulus isn’t generally one of them—but his heart sinks when his door opens
and he sees who’s on the other side.

Tom Riddle.

“Hello, Regulus,” he says. “Good to see you.” He lets the door shut behind him with a soft
click. His expression is carefully neutral as he leans against the wall and crosses his arms.
The dressing room isn’t very large—no bigger than a bathroom, really—and Riddle’s
proximity makes Regulus’ skin crawl.
Riddle is both Regulus’ boss and least favorite person in this place. If it wasn’t for his
tendency to disappear for weeks at a time to fuck off to faraway places, Regulus would’ve
quit ages ago and gone somewhere else to dance. This might be one of the finest places in
London with the highest paying clientele, but Riddle’s presence alone is enough to set
Regulus’ teeth on edge.

He’s ridiculously tall and wickedly handsome, of slim build with salt and pepper hair. In his
forties, made of angular lines, and blessed with rich brown eyes that miss nothing. He always
dresses in expensive suits, never forgets to shine his Oxfords, and doesn’t repeat his ties.

He can charm the knickers off any woman and the pants off any man, but gives Regulus the
distinct impression he might’ve tortured animals as a child.

Regulus is not Tom Riddle’s biggest fan.

Still, he replies, “Good to see you as well, Riddle. How was Bora Bora?”

“Wonderful. I recommend it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Regulus leans his hip on the edge of the small vanity and crosses his
arms. He resists the urge to take a step back and away. “Can I help you with something? I
was just headed out. My shift is over.”

“Oh, of course. I won’t keep you long. Just wondered if we might have a quick chat.”

Regulus’ spine stiffens, and his stomach falls right through his ass to the floor. The curl at the
corner of Riddle’s mouth is not pleasant.

“I’ll get to the point for the sake of brevity. I’ve heard you’re seeing one of your clients…
recreationally. And that he’s paying you quite handsomely for your time.” Riddle tilts his
head. “Ring a bell?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Regulus inhales through his nose, holds the breath in his lungs, then exhales. No point in
lying about it. Riddle wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have proof. “Who told you?” asks
Regulus. His fingernails dig into his biceps through the thick fabric of his jumper. “A
bouncer? One of the other dancers?”

“Best not to name names. Wouldn’t want to create any bad blood.”

Another dancer, then. Regulus fights the urge to let his lip curl with distaste. “Does it matter?
I still put my portion in the pool every night. I’m not hiding money. The extra is mine. That’s
how it works. You’ve always said so long as we put our required portion in, then—”

“Yes,” Riddle interrupts, “but none of the other dancers receive two thousand pounds for
thirty minutes of their time. Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think? Letting your sugar daddy
come in here and shower you with riches while the other dancers…”
Regulus sets his jaw. “James is my client. What he chooses to pay is between me and him.”

“First name basis, too?” Riddle arches a brow. “How interesting.”

Shit.

“What do you care that he’s my sugar daddy?” Regulus straightens and pushes his shoulders
back. He has to be careful he doesn’t slip and call James his boyfriend. There are definitely
rules about dating clients, and Riddle will kick him out for it. “It’s none of your business
what I do with my life outside of this club.”

“It’s my business when it’s happening in my club,” Riddle replies simply. “Your private
sessions are frequent and suspicious. I wonder—does he keep his hands off? Or do you let
him pay to fuck you, too?”

Regulus’ temper rears ugly and hot in his chest. “No,” he says through gritted teeth. “He
doesn’t pay to fuck me.”

“That’s good. I hire dancers, not prostitutes.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he can’t throw a punch like Sirius. Because if he could, he’d right
hook the smirk right off of Riddle’s face.

“No more, Regulus. Your James is allowed in this club because I have no true reason to bar
him from it, but if I catch wind of more private dances… Well, his pockets are deep. He’ll
always be welcome here.” Riddle pushes off the wall and reaches behind him for the door
handle. “You, however, are replaceable. Is that understood?”

You would get along great with my mother, Regulus thinks bitterly. He nods once, says, “I
understand,” and waits until the door clicks shut with Riddle on the other side before he
slumps to the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his head back against the vanity drawers. His heart races in his
chest. Now that he no longer has to maintain his composure, he lets it crumble.

More than anything, it’s the insinuation that James is only paying him for sex. That there’s an
exchange of money for a body. It makes Regulus sick to his stomach—makes him proper
nauseous, if he’s honest—and he’s scrambling for his phone in his bag before he can think
better of it.

He can taste panic on his tongue. Feels the pinprick of heat behind his eyes. This is the start
of a spiral that’ll unwind all of the trust he’s worked so hard to build.

James answers after two rings.

“Princess? ¿Estás bien?” But when Regulus doesn’t answer, he asks more urgently, “Baby,
¿todo bien? You’re not talking. Did something happen?”

“I—I don’t know—”

I don’t know why I’m panicking.

I don’t know why I called you.

I don’t know why I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’s a deep, muffled voice on the other end, then James says, “Fuck. Hold on, Reg. Don’t
hang up,” and pulls the phone away to shout, “Espérate, Pa, dame un minuto, yeah?”

Regulus wants to tell James not to worry about him. James is thousands of miles away
helping his dad build a shed and singing happy birthday to his mum. He doesn’t need to
worry about Regulus, who spirals because his boss is a piece of shit with a sharp, cruel
tongue.

“You still there, love?”

“I’m here.” Regulus pulls his knees to his chest and rests his forehead between them. He
inhales a shaky breath in an attempt to ground himself. “Riddle talked to me.”

“Huh? Who is—Oh. That asshole.” James’ voice hardens. He knows plenty about Riddle by
now, and he’s even less of a fan than Regulus. “What did he want?”

“He knows. About us. I don’t know how, but… One of the other dancers, maybe.”

James swears under his breath. “What did he say?”

“Nothing really,” Regulus hedges. “Just said he hires dancers, not prostitutes, and—”

“Sorry, what? Did he call you that?”

“Not exactly, but—”

James lapses into rapid fire Spanish, his irritation palpable even from an ocean away. He
punctuates half his sentences with what Regulus has come to learn are swear words in a
variety of different flavors.

“James,” he says sharply, “it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“No, love, you’re not. You wouldn’t have called me if you were fine.” Regulus hates that he’s
right, that he knows enough now to recognize and understand the patterns of panic. “He
shouldn’t talk to you like that. You’ve done nothing wrong, and I don’t pay you for sex.”

Regulus lifts his head and sniffs. He hadn’t realized he was so close to crying. “You sort of
do,” he whispers, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jumper. “You pay for those private
sessions, and sometimes you… Sometimes we…”

For a moment, James is deathly quiet. Then, “Please don’t think it’s like that, Reg. Please.”

“But—”
“Regulus, baby, I’m serious. I pay for those sessions because I have to. Those are the club’s
rules. But I pay as much as I do because I want to.” James groans softly, and Regulus
imagines him pushing a hand under his glasses, forcing them up onto his forehead. “I get you
off sometimes because I want to. Because I can’t resist you when you’re right there in front
of me and—It’s just not like that, Regulus. I promise.”

Regulus’ heart lodges itself in his throat, and his tongue is heavy behind his teeth.

“Is that—Have you been worrying about that?”

No. Yes. “Maybe.”

“And then Riddle said…”

“Mhm.”

James heaves a defeated sigh. “That’s it. I’ve gotta kill him.”

“What? No!” Regulus sputters a disbelieving laugh. “Why are you always so—so zero to one
hundred all of the time?”

“Latin blood. It’s sorta hardwired into our DNA.” There’s a small smile in James’ voice, and
it eases the knot in Regulus’ stomach. “Seriously, though. Fuck him. He’s just pissed that he
can’t make you put more in than the rules require. You’re making ten times what he wants
you to. It’s a power trip. Don’t let him fuck with you.”

Regulus drops his head back against the drawers and stares up at the low ceiling. “Maybe you
shouldn’t come around the club anymore… He told me no more private dances with you
specifically. I’ll lose my job.”

He can practically hear how badly James wants to say, Fuck that job. Not because he wants
Regulus to quit for him—they’ve gone over this plenty—but because he’ll want Regulus to
quit for himself. Except he’s so close to graduation, so close to being done, that it feels
pointless to throw in the towel now. Even without James’ contributions, he makes a
ridiculous amount of money.

“Fine,” James says in acquiescence, though Regulus knows it pains him to do it. “I’m sorry I
ranted a bit before. I shouldn’t… That wasn’t very calm, cool, and collected of me, was it?”

Regulus breathes a soft laugh. “No, it wasn’t. But it’s alright. It’s hot when you rant in
Spanish. If we ever fight, you should just start going off like that. I’ll probably agree with
everything you say.”

“You? Agree? Baby, you’re not built to agree with anything or anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Regulus realizes belatedly that he’s smiling. “You still working with your
dad?”

“Mhm. It’s been good. But I’ll be home Monday night. I miss the fuck out of you.”
Regulus buries his face between his knees. “Can I come over? On Monday, I mean.”

“You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to intrude or—”

“Were you not in the car when we shifted from ‘people who casually fuck’ to ‘boyfriends’?
I’ll have to add a new nickname at this rate. You’ve got the selective memory of a goldfish,
love.”

Regulus scoffs, muttering, “We never ‘casually’ fucked and you know it.”

“That is what you picked up on out of all that? Oi.” James laughs, and the sound of it fills
Regulus with a warmth that loosens the remaining tension in his muscles. “How about this?
When I get home on Monday, I want my boyfriend there in my flat, and I want them to wear
something for me.”

“Like what?” asks Regulus, picking at a stray thread in his jeans.

“Whatever you want, but it has to be something that makes you feel sexy.”

“Okay.” Regulus exhales shakily, nodding before he remembers James can’t see him. “Okay,
I can do that for you.”

“I know. Your praise kink wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise.”

Regulus’ jaw drops, and he sputters, “I do not have a praise kink!”

“And I’m not Mexican. You have a key, Reg. Be there when I get home.” Then, a little
gentler, “I’ve gotta get back to Pa. He’s been waiting for a while. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Fine. But I still don’t have a praise kink.”

James merely snorts his disbelief. “Whatever you say. Bye, love.”

“Bye.”

This time, it’s two syllables too short of what he wants to tell James.

“I hate to admit it, but Jamie is right, babe. You really should quit.” Barty blows thick smoke
into the air and rolls the joint between his thumb and forefinger before passing it to Regulus.
“You’ve got money saved, yeah? And you’ll be done with school in like…two months. You
don’t plan to strip and work full-time, do you?”
Regulus shakes his head and sets the joint between his teeth. “No,” he mutters, inhaling deep
in his lungs. He holds the smoke for a second longer then he probably should, then exhales.
“But I don’t want to lose this income until I’ve got something else lined up.”

“I get that. Really, I do. But Riddle is a fucking wanker.” Barty crosses his ankles on the
coffee table and tucks his hands under his thighs. He closes his eyes, leaning back into the
sofa cushions with a loose smile. “He’s just got his knickers all in a twist because you’re
making money he wants to get his hands on.”

“That’s what James said.”

Barty groans. “Why does he keep being right? It’s annoying.”

“I ask myself that all of the time.”

Evan taps Regulus’ knee, a hand outstretched to take the joint from his fingers. “I know you
put your money in the pool, but you still make more than any other dancer on the floor when
James comes in. There’s been…talk. Some of them are a little pissed about it.”

“Not Reg’s fault they’re pretty and those dancers look like the gum on the bottom of my
shoe,” Barty mutters indignantly.

Regulus plays with the strands of Evan’s hair. His fingertips are already a bit numb. “Maybe
Riddle should charge more if he wants more money.”

“He already charges an insane amount. The clientele in that place is wealthier than your
average. They’re just not falling in love with their favorite stripper like ol’ Jamie.” Barty
snickers when Regulus throws a pillow at him. “What? That man is in love with you, Reg.”

“No, he’s not,” Regulus mumbles, crossing his arms in a pout. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. I’m
not in love with him.”

Evan barks a laugh. Smoke curls from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. “Well, if
that’s not the greatest lie you’ve ever told. And here I thought we were friends.”

“What? I’m not! Evan, give me that. You don’t deserve it.” Regulus snatches the joint from
Evan’s hand, scowling at his friend who still laughs where he sits leaning against the couch.
“Fuck off. Both of you. I just met the man.”

“Bullshit,” Barty scoffs. “It’s been months, Reggie, and he’s still around. That’s monumental
for you. Plus, I told Evan I was in love with him after we met and spent one week in a sex
nest.”

Regulus makes a gagging sound. “Do not ever say those two words again.”

“Hey, you were a part of it once.” Barty shoots him a cheeky grin, adding, “It really was just
like that, though. A week in and I knew Evan was the one.”

“You’re annoyingly romantic when you’re high.”

“Right, sorry. Give me another hit, and I’ll start setting shit on fire instead.”

Regulus scowls, refusing to pass Barty the joint despite his outstretched, wiggling fingers.
“It’s mine. I had a rough night.”

“We’re meant to be sharing,” Barty whines. “You were good at it once. Come on. Let me
have it.”

Reluctantly, Regulus leans forward to pass the joint to Barty. Somewhat resigned to his fate
on the subject, he asks, “And what if… What if I am? In love, I mean. With James.”

Evan tips his head back to regard Regulus with mild amusement. “That’s the closest we’ll get
to a confession, so I’ll take it. But it’s not a bad thing, Reg.”

“Not to you. To me, it’s—it’s…”

It’s all of his cards on the table. It’s handing over a part of himself that is so incredibly fragile
not even he wants to touch it. It’s trust and vulnerability and cracking himself open—
everything he’s always been terrible at. It’s meeting parents and charismatic smiles and yes,
I’m one of Orion and Walburga Black’s sons, but I promise I’m not like any of them.

Not really, anyway. Not all of the time.

“I always feel like the girls are so much better at this,” Evan says with a sigh. “They just have
this way with words, you know? It’s not bloody fair.”

“My love, you are just incredibly fucking high.” Barty flops on his stomach, passes the joint
to Evan, and lets his arm dangle, fingers brushing the carpet. He squints at his boyfriend,
watching him inhale deep into his lungs. “Reggie,” he asks without shifting his attention
away from Evan, “are you staying the night?”

“If it’s fine with you. I can’t drive right now.”

“Yeah. S’Fine.” Barty pushes up on his hands and knees, all of his movements sluggish. He
takes the joint from Evan and sets it in the ash tray on their coffee table, rubbing it until the
cherry goes out. “D’you mind if we…?”

Regulus rolls his eyes and lies flat on his back. Everything is fuzzy now; his brain feels
stuffed with cotton. “Not like I can stop you.”

“Door’s always open, though,” Barty murmurs with a weed-laced grin, nudging his thigh.
“But only if Jamie won’t kill me.”

“He probably will.”

“Bummer. Tell him he’s invited, too.”

Regulus kicks at Barty, aiming for his groin, but the world isn’t moving quite right. Barty
simply cackles, pleased with himself, and drags Evan down the hall behind him. Their
bedroom door slams shut with finality.
It leaves Regulus alone in their living room, but he doesn’t mind. Through the haze of weed,
he sifts through his conversation with Evan and Barty. In truth, not even he believes his own
lie. He’s not sure James is in love with him, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget those words
James said in Milan.

I think I’m going to end up falling in love with you.

The words fell from his lips so easily, like it was the most natural conclusion in the world.
Like James couldn’t comprehend an alternative ending for them.

But Regulus? He’s thought of every single one. There are a hundred doors on either side of a
long hallway, and behind each of them is some variation of his heartbreak. It’ll be his fault,
most likely. No one ever stays, either because he pushes them away or because they grow
tired of cutting themselves on thorns.

He gets it. He does.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t absolutely fucking suck.

His phone vibrates where it’s wedged between his back and the sofa cushions.

James
Hi baby
You up?

Regulus
I’m high

James
I hate that I’m missing it
You’re adorable when you’re high

Regulus
I thought I’m adorable all of the time

James
Yes but ESPECIALLY when you’re high
You with Barty and Evan?

Regulus
Yeah but they’re currently fucking
I’m on their couch
Looking at the ceiling

James
Are they loud?
 Regulus
Not yet
But they will be

James
I don’t get people who can have sex when they’re high

Regulus
You sound like a quitter to me

James
?!?!?!?!

Regulus
:)

James
Fuck I miss your voice

Regulus
Can you call?

James
No :( We’re on our way to dinner for Ma
And I don’t think my parents want to hear me tell you how I’d rather be eating you out
instead

Regulus makes a soft, startled noise in the back of his throat. His fingers fumble to type a
response, but nothing feels right. He rolls over on his side, bottom lip between his teeth, then
rolls back to stare up at the ceiling.

His phone vibrates in his hand.

James
Too much?

Regulus
Nononono it’s fine
I’m just
Kinda fighting for my life

James
:)

Regulus
How many hours until you’re home?
James
48ish
Also feel like I should be specific

Regulus
Oh no

James
And tell you I want you to sit on my face

Regulus
Jesus Christ

James
No, my lovely little goldfish
My name is James Potter
You were close though

Regulus
I hate you
So much

James
I love it when you talk dirty

Regulus sends so many middle finger emojis they fill the entire page.

James
Adorable
I’ve gotta go but text me when you wake up

Regulus
Send me food pics pleeeeease

James
Just food pics?

Regulus
Wasn’t talking about tacos James
I don’t need pics of those

James
I dunno baby the tacos are pretty good here…
They’ll make your mouth water
Get you drooling
 Regulus
I hate that I told you about that

James
<3
I miss you
Goodnight baby

There they are—three words much easier to say aloud than the L-shaped one but still not easy
for him to admit. His mouth just doesn’t know how to form the letters, and his tongue is too
heavy to shape the sounds. But maybe, like this, he can do it. His mouth doesn’t need to be
involved. The letters can’t lodge themselves in his throat and choke him if it’s his fingers
spelling the words.

Regulus
Goodnight James
I miss you too

Regulus throws his phone across the room. It lands with a thud on the carpet far, far away,
and he’s too high to get up and retrieve it. His limbs are heavy, his brain is fuzzy, and if he
doesn’t think too hard about what he just admitted, he can trick his heart into a slow, steady
rhythm.

He rolls onto his side, buries his face in the sofa cushions, and groans from deep in his chest.

Regulus changes his outfit four times.

Wear something for me.

The words bounce around in his skull while he makes a mess of James’ walk in closet. His
stomach is a twisted mess of nervous knots. He pulls everything out of his drawer only to
shove it all back in with an irritated huff.

Whatever you want, but it has to be something that makes you feel sexy.

Defeated, he opens his drawer one more time, stares at his options, then slams it closed with
another sigh. He lies on the carpeted floor and looks up at the ceiling. It’s been a little over an
hour since he let himself into James’ flat. Fifteen minutes after he arrived, James messaged to
say he’s back in London and it’ll be forty-five minutes before he’s home.
Which was…thirty minutes ago.

Fuck.

Regulus presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars burst amidst the black. He’s in
nothing but a soft pink, lacy G-string that he bought yesterday to partially replace the set
James ripped off two weeks ago. And while it helps, it doesn’t quite feel like enough.

He wants something James can take off of him slowly. Something that makes the corners of
James’ mouth curl upward, that coy smile growing slowly until his eyes crinkle and his
cheeks push at his glasses and he gets that dazed look in his eyes.

Grumbling under his breath, he pushes up into a sitting position. He yanks the drawer open
again and goes through every item meticulously. He’s brought so much to James’ flat… Does
he even have clothes at home anymore? Jumpers. Jeans. A few pairs of cargo pants. Plain
briefs. Pieces of lingerie. One pleated, gray skirt. Plenty of—

Oh.

Regulus backtracks through the haphazardly folded items of clothing. Where did it go? He
just saw it. He knows he did. It was an accident that he brought it to James’ flat in the first
place, and when he realized, he’d stuffed it between other things before James noticed. But
then he’d forgotten all about it—out of sight, out of mind.

Until now.

He finds it after a few moments of furious sifting. As though it’s burned him, he quickly
drops it on top of the pile of clothes—and stares. He pulls his knees to his chest. Bites the
sidewall of his thumb. His stomach is a serious mess of knots now.

Should he?

James has been so lovely since that night Regulus tried his level best to explain something he
himself is still figuring out. It’s not that he expected James wouldn’t be, but this is unknown
territory. It’s new enough Regulus expected some amount of fumbling.

But a few days later, James took Regulus shopping in Mayfair to buy a birthday present for
his mum. They stopped at a small coffee shop where they stood waiting in line and out of the
cold.

When they reached the front, James said, “I’ll have the sugariest cappuccino you can make,
and they’ll have the bitterest thing you’ve got.” At the barista’s raised brows, James added,
“Trust me, I know. They have no proper taste. I’m a firm believer in enjoying what you drink,
but they like to suffer.”

“That’s not true!” Regulus argued, elbowing James in the ribs. But his insides had gone
gooey and warm. They, they, they—as easily as if James had always referred to him that way.
The affirmation of it made Regulus loop an arm around James’ elbow and bury his face in a
sleeve that smelled of sandalwood and citrus.
“What is it, love? Why are you crawling in my shirt?”

“S’Nothing,” Regulus had mumbled, because words felt rather inadequate for expressing
what he felt.

So maybe it’s alright.

Maybe he can try this on for size and just see. Stick a toe in the water and test the
temperature. He bought the skirt last month while shopping with Lily, who told him if he
wanted it then he should get it.

You’ll like it or you won’t, she’d said simply. If you like it, you can build the confidence to
wear it out. And if you don’t like it, then give it to me because it’s cute as fuck.

Regulus pulls the pleated skirt from the pile of clothes. This time, he doesn’t drop it. He
grabs a plum-colored crop top jumper next, then shuts the drawer before he can change his
mind. He’s running out of time. He pulls the jumper over his head first, fiddling with the hem
even though there’s nothing to really fiddle with.

“Just put the damn thing on,” he mutters to his reflection in the full length mirror. “It’s a skirt,
not a fucking shark. Don’t be a baby.”

It’s not his best pep talk, but James will be home soon. Before he can spiral out of control, he
steps into the skirt and pulls it up around his hips. The material is soft against his skin, like
joggers but better. The hem falls just above mid-thigh, and the band fits perfectly around his
waist. It leaves a sliver of skin on display that James will zero in on the second he walks in
the door.

Regulus crosses his arms over his chest. His reflection stares back at him, lips pursed and
gaze calculating. Good genetics and years of ballet have given him long, slender legs. He
runs the top of one foot up the back of his calf. He has to keep his skin smooth for work,
otherwise he wouldn’t bother, but he likes that there’s nothing to hide the clusters of freckles
and small moles.

When he twists to look at the back, the skirt flares out before settling back against his thighs.
“Oh. Not bad,” he murmurs appreciatively. The fabric falls in a way that flatters his shape,
and he realizes he’s smiling from ear to ear at the sight of himself.

Because he doesn’t just look good—he feels good. Feels incredible, actually.

He feels how he did the first time he realized he could be masculine—and then some. A boy
—and then some. No boxes but rather a sliding spectrum of his own making. Unlimited
expressions that suit him, that make him feel like the world is his oyster.

I wanted to call you pretty and handsome and beautiful all at the same fucking time.

“Yeah,” he whispers, plucking at the skirt’s hem. “Yeah, I think I get it now.”

He’s still admiring his reflection when he hears the front door open and close. The thud of a
duffel bag dropped on marble floors. Keys in a bowl.
Heart slamming against his ribcage, Regulus follows the sounds of James coming home.

“Baby? I really hope you’re here, or I’m—Oh. Oh, my—Hello.” James stares from where he
stands frozen in the entryway. He’s tanner and more sun-kissed than Regulus has ever seen
him. He drops his jacket on top of his duffel, and Regulus takes in his plain black tee and
gray joggers while he takes Regulus in slowly. His eyes are bright as they travel from head to
toe and back again. James whistles low under his breath.

“Hi,” Regulus says softly. His stomach is back in knots. There’s a fierce burn in his cheeks.
He has to fight the urge to cross his arms, to cover himself. James is looking so openly, like
Regulus is a butterfly he’s pinned down and needs to study every part of. “Welcome back to
dreary London.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Absolutely pissing it down outside, but…” James coughs into his fist. There’s a
blush coloring his cheeks. “Sorry, love, but I think I was just forced into factory reset mode.
Care to tell me my name? Think I might’ve forgotten it.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. The knot unwinds and turns to butterflies, and he bites the insides of
his cheeks. “Shut up,” he mutters. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Not even a little. You are stunning.” James finally unfreezes to cross the short distance in
long, sure strides. He takes Regulus’ face between his palms and says, “I mean it. You’re
gorgeous, love. Where did you get this?” He reaches down to flick the hem of Regulus’ skirt,
then makes a soft, helpless noise. “Agh, Dios mío, baby. I know I’ve said it before but vas a
acabar conmigo. Seriously.”

“I bought it a while ago.” Regulus lays his palms on James’ chest, delighted at the familiar
warmth under his hands. He wants to bury his face in James’ shirt. Crawl inside it, maybe,
and live there for a little while. “It’s been sitting in my closet, but I brought it here on
accident.”

“Thank God for accidents.” James searches his eyes, gaze imploring, and brushes a thumb
over his cheekbone. “Is this your first time wearing it?”

Regulus nods slowly.

“How do you feel?”

“Good,” he blurts without thinking. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth until it aches.
“Really good,” he finally amends. “Pretty. Sexy. I don’t know. I just feel… Good.”

Without warning, James dips down to hook an arm under Regulus’ knees and another under
his shoulders. He laughs at Regulus’ startled yelp and buries his face in Regulus’ curls. “God,
I missed you,” he mumbles.

“You weren’t even gone for three days.”

“Don’t care.” He carries Regulus into the bedroom and drops him unceremoniously on the
bed.
He bounces, smiling so wide his cheeks ache, and scrambles backwards to sink into the pile
of plush pillows at the head of James’ bed. He missed them—the feel, the softness, the scent
that clings to their fabric. In front of him, James reaches up to tug his shirt over his head.

“You should run off to Mexico more often,” Regulus muses, taking in the sharp cut of James’
hipbones, that tantalizing trail of dark hair. “It looks good on you.”

“Quit objectifying me.” The bed dips under James’ weight when he sets his knee on the edge.
“Hey, hey. My eyes are up here, Princess.”

“I know where they are. I just don’t have an interest in them right now.” Regulus extends his
leg to curl his toes in the waistband of James’ joggers. “You can’t blame me. I haven’t been
filled in days.”

James snorts. His fingers circle Regulus’ ankle in a tight grip to pull his foot away. “And you
say that I’m the dramatic one.” He grazes his fingertip up Regulus’ shin to the base of his
thigh. “God, look at you. Just… Jesus.”

“It’s Regulus, but close enough,” he quips, and it earns him a crooked grin.

Wordlessly, he bends his knees and spreads them enough for James to settle on his stomach
in-between. He presses his cheek to the inside of Regulus’ thigh and makes a small,
contented little noise.

“Please tell me you’ll wear this again,” he murmurs, nosing at the skirt’s hem.

“I’ve never worn something like this in public.” Regulus traces a fingertip over the curve of
James’ ear. “But I want to,” he adds, holding James’ curious gaze. “Eventually. I think I have
to build up the confidence first.”

James says nothing. He simply watches, content to pepper soft kisses on every inch of skin he
can reach.

“Would you care?” Regulus finally asks, though it’s barely a whisper. “If I… Would it—
Would it bother you?”

“Bother me? Love, did you not see me in the entryway?”

“Yeah, but it’s different out there. In public. Around people.”

“That’s only because men will stare at you, and I’ll have to give a good chunk of the
population mean looks to keep them away.” James snickers when Regulus gently tugs on his
ear. “I’m being serious. It’s criminal how good you look in this.”

Regulus chews on his bottom lip, unsure of what to say. The moon shines into the room and
bathes James’ back in soft light. With a delicate, tentative finger, Regulus traces the tip of an
antler. “I’m comfortable with you,” he admits softly. “I feel like I can try new things. It’s…
nice, the way you looked at me when you saw me.”
Familiar hands slide up the backs of Regulus’ thighs and under the pleated skirt. James looks
up at him from underneath long, black lashes. “I’m your… Hm. Call me your ‘conejillo de
indias.’”

“I can’t say it like you.” Regulus runs his fingers through James’ curls. His pulse races from
the heat of James between his thighs. “What does it mean?”

“Guinea pig.”

“Why?”

James shifts forward to kiss above Regulus’ belly button, then works a path along the
exposed strip of his stomach. “Because I want you to try everything with me. Soy tuyo, mi
amor. Haz lo que quieras conmigo. Okay?”

“What did you—Oh.” Regulus’ head falls back against the pillows, and he blinks up at the
ceiling. His vision blurs at the delicious feel of James mouthing over his cock through the
skirt. Spit darkens the gray fabric. It’s another minute before he can gather enough brain cells
to croak, “What did—What did you say?”

James tugs at the skirt’s waistband to gain access to Regulus’ hipbone. He nibbles at it until
Regulus pokes his shoulder and repeats the question. “I said I’m yours,” James replies, as if it
isn’t the most earth shattering thing for Regulus to hear said aloud. “And that you can do
whatever you want with me.”

There are no words he can get his mouth and tongue to form, so he does the next best thing—
he drags James up, up, up until their lips slot together in a perfect, easy fit. Regulus moans
into James’ mouth when a hand curls under his thigh, fingers digging into soft skin, and urges
it to hike up around James’ hip.

“I missed you so much,” James whispers, chuckling when Regulus sucks on his tongue. “And
I hated not waking up to you. Drove me fucking crazy.”

“Language.”

James huffs a laugh and catches Regulus’ bottom lip between his teeth. “I didn’t realize I’m
so used to you being in my space until you weren’t there. Kept saying to Ma, ‘Regulus would
love this,’ or telling Pa, ‘I wish Regulus could see this.’ Honestly, I think they were glad to
get rid of me. I wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“It’s almost like you’re obsessed with me or something.”

“Might be. Just a little bit.” James pushes up to sit back on his heels. His lips are slightly
swollen and slick with spit, and his eyes are bright. Black threatens to swallow up all the
hazel of his irises. With a wicked grin, he says, “Flip over, baby.”

Slowly, Regulus rolls himself over to lie on his stomach. His heart races at the warm touch of
James’ hands urging his thighs apart, pushing the hem of his skirt up. He yelps when James
snaps the thin elastic running through the cleft of his ass.
 “It’s not fair you’re so damn pretty. Couldn’t leave any for the rest of us, could you? Not
surprised, though. Greedy little thing that you are.”

Regulus looks over his shoulder to find James shoving his glasses up into his hair like a
headband. His tongue flicks out to lick over his bottom lip, and Regulus sucks in a sharp
breath.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, his voice positively dripping with honey.

James’ grin turns wolfish as he settles on his stomach with his hands spreading Regulus open.
“Starving, actually,” he replies before diving in, and Regulus knows nothing more than
whatever pleasure James decides to give him.

In the end, he’s not even sure he knows his own damn name.

Chapter End Notes

they're just so happy that it'd really suck if someone came in and fucked it all up for
them, eh? :/

but hey — we passed 100k words! which is insane because this fic was supposed to be
10 chapters max, but i couldn't imagine it being anything other than what it is now <3
thank you so much for all of the support, love, and kind words! writing these two brings
me SO MUCH JOY. i want the whole story out but at the same time, i'm going to miss
them so much when it's done :( bittersweet, y'know? BUT we still have 8 more chapters
so i won't start waxing poetic quiiiiiite yet. i did want to say thank you for the love,
though! <3 it means a lot and has helped buoy me through exam season.

also moonyandtoasts made art of CMU Regulus and i’m actually a little (a lot) obsessed
with him bc the cunty side eye is judging your entire bloodline

EDIT: i got a few questions about it, so i figured i'd answer really quickly here just to
make sure it's clear, but James and Regulus both have safe words! James wouldn't feel
comfortable pushing Regulus if he didn't know there are specific words/phrases for
Regulus to use if he needs a break or if it's becoming too much <3
 speedin’ down the highway, sippin’
Chapter Summary

paris, part one

Chapter Notes

new playlist unlocked: paris 🖤

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus doesn’t do Valentine’s Day.

Then again, he also doesn’t sleep with, date, or fall in love with his clients—but he’s been
doing a whole lot of all three these days.

Can anyone really blame him, though? He’s not sure he’s ever been so adored by anyone in
his entire life. And not in the love bombing, this-is-just-the-honeymoon-stage-but-it’ll-pass
sort of way, either. No, this adoration is borne by all of the small things James does rather
than his grand gestures.

It’s in the cup of black coffee he leaves on the counter for Regulus to find when he rolls out
of bed. There’s always a note underneath—have a good day or text me when you finish this or
wear something nice for me tonight—and James never forgets to sign it with his
characteristic looping J and a tiny heart.

It’s in all of his subtle touches, too. Kisses dropped on the crown of Regulus’ head when he’s
curled up on the couch and James walks by. A thumb absently rubbing Regulus’ ankle while
they watch TV. The ghost of a touch on his bare thigh when the sun just crests the horizon
and everything is still soft and quiet, the world—and Regulus with it—not quite awake.

It’s in the dinner date at a restaurant overlooking London a few days after James comes back
from Mexico. But the view and wine and dessert don’t matter near as much as James’ hand
under the table. It curves around the back of Regulus’ calf, thumb stroking over smooth skin.
James watches him with a simmering hunger, but remains on his best behavior until they’re
in the Aston, where he can finally slip his hand under the hem of Regulus’ skirt and dig his
fingers into soft flesh like it’s a lifeline.

It was an unexpected confidence booster to see how James short circuited at the sight of him
in a cropped jumper and dark jean jacket, the pleated gray skirt flattering his figure and its
hem brushing his skin mid-thigh. He slipped into his Docs, then asked, “Too much for
dinner?”

To which James replied with an earnest smile, “No. You’re fucking perfect.”

He isn’t sure he ever would’ve mustered the confidence on his own. And even with James,
his heart hammers so hard against his ribs that he worries he might have several bone bruises
tomorrow. But James holds his hand, squeezing every so often, and whispers you look
stunning, love, I promise. It settles Regulus until he sees his reflection in a window—and
smiles from ear to ear.

Because yeah, he does look fucking stunning.

They came home from dinner an hour ago—Regulus a little wine tipsy and James a bit lust
drunk. Neither of them bothered to remove all of their clothes, and they didn’t have the
patience to make it to the bedroom. It was here, James, I need it here and yeah, okay,
whatever you want, baby, because fuck, I’ve wanted to take a bite out of you since the
appetizers.

James bends him over the thick arm of the sofa. There’s a black, silk tie stuffed in his mouth.
James grew tired of his teasing ages ago—what is it, papi? Do you have a kink for fucking me
in a suit?—and Regulus laughs maniacally around the fabric until James pushes into him
rough and unrestrained.

He likes James best when he’s like this. When he snaps, gets messy with it, buries himself so
deep in Regulus’ body it’s like he’s trying to carve out a piece in his exact shape. This is
Regulus’ favorite James because after, when he’s still in the clouds and in need of a tether to
bring him down, that adoration pours off of James in unending waves.

Gentle kisses, delicate hands with a cherishing touch, and so good, baby, so damn good and
lovely peppered all over Regulus’ overheated skin until his breathing evens out, his head
clears, and his feet are back on the ground. This is when he smiles and James mirrors it, both
of them exhausted in all of the best ways.

They’re in the kitchen, the smell of sex still clinging to their skin, when James drops the
question about Paris. It startles Regulus so violently he slams the refrigerator door with more
force than he intended.

“Fuck, sorry,” he mutters to the stainless steel appliance before rounding on James. “Paris?
Did I hear you correctly?”

“We don’t have to,” James says quickly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He leans his elbows
on the kitchen island, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He’s shirtless, dressed in nothing but
his suit trousers, which he hasn’t bothered to rezip or button. He’s not even wearing pants. “I
know Milan wasn’t… It was messy. So I thought maybe we should do something for us. Not
a business trip or—or anything like that. You and me. A different city.”

“Milan wasn’t messy. It was fine.” Not entirely true and Regulus knows it, but he still hasn’t
moved past can I take you to Paris this weekend for Valentine’s Day? “Besides, isn’t this a
little last minute?”

James shakes his head minutely. “No. It’ll be easy to get a room. And flying there won’t be
an issue.”

“When did you have this bright idea?”

“About thirty minutes ago when I looked up from watching you take me and saw London
outside and thought, ‘Damn, this would be even more incredible if the view was of Paris.’” A
pleased little grin flashes across James’ face. “I really do think my best ideas come to me
when we have sex.”

Regulus rolls his eyes so hard they nearly fall out of his skull. “Keep telling yourself that.”
He tries for humor, for a laugh, but all he can manage is to chew on his bottom lip until it
twinges. James clocks the wince.

“Love, what’s wrong? Don’t spiral. Talk to me. Please.”

“Paris is—I haven’t been back since—I don’t…” Regulus trails off; he doesn’t want to
stammer over his words. The problem isn’t Paris, or even France itself—it’s the reminder of
yet another place so intrinsically tied to his childhood that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to
visit it without also revisiting old memories.

Memories of running through cobblestone streets with Sirius, of sitting in exquisite cafés
with Narcissa, of smoking cigarettes with a boy under a blanket of stars when he was
seventeen and scared but still courageous enough to answer yes to a quietly asked can I kiss
you?

“It’s your family, isn’t it?” asks James softly.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Regulus hops up on the counter and pulls one leg close to his chest so he can rest his chin on
his knee. It’s still early in the evening, and the setting sun bathes James’ living room and
kitchen in a soft orange glow. He can hear the distant sounds of London if he listens well
enough.

He lounges in James’ ridiculously expensive dress shirt. It smells of James’ cologne, of that
fresh linen and sandalwood scent woven with citrus. Regulus lets it hang off one shoulder,
unbuttoned and open at the front. He switched his usual lingerie for simple black briefs; he
wants comfort now that their night is winding down.

It’s easy. Soft. Quiet.

Safe.

“Alright,” he murmurs, and James looks up with confusion creasing his brow. “Paris. Let’s do
it. Let’s just—I don’t want my family to have this much power over me anymore. It’s a
fucking city, for hell’s sake. I shouldn’t be afraid of it. And I—I feel safe with you. If you’re
with me, I think I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”

“It’s about time I make new memories there. Better ones.”

Hope blooms in James’ eyes. “We really don’t have to, though. Not if you think you’ll be
uncomfortable. London has good restaurants, and—”

“I can’t believe you just offered me Valentine’s Day in Paris, and now you’re taking it away
to give me London.” Regulus sticks out his tongue and mimes a gag. James chuckles behind
the rim of his glass before he takes another sip; there’s a sparkle in his eyes now.

Comfortable silence settles between them. Regulus bangs one heel softly against the cabinets,
his eyes on James, then London, then James again. He watches the question form behind
hazel eyes before James seems to muster the confidence to speak it aloud.

“When was the last time you were in Paris?”

Not what Regulus expected, but it’s easy enough to answer. “I was seventeen, so it’s been
about six years. We used to go a few times a year. We had a townhouse where we’d spend our
summers when I was a kid, but Maman gave it to her younger brother, Cygnus, after her other
brother broke from the family. Our uncle, Alphard, was supposed to inherit it, but…”

Pandora’s box opens, as she’s wont to do these days, and spills all of her contents out onto
James’ kitchen floor. Regulus says a little quieter, with an irritatingly noticeable ache in his
voice, “Sometimes I wonder if Alphard is part of the reason Sirius left in the first place. He
was the first to do it, then Andy after him…”

“Andy?”

“Andromeda. My cousin. She married a primary school teacher when she was nineteen.
Maybe twenty. I don’t really remember. I was still young. But I do remember her arguing that
his job was ‘perfectly respectable.’ Which, yeah, it is, but to the Black family? Far from it.”
Regulus shakes his head ruefully. “They tried for a little while, but it was so obvious her
parents were pushing for divorce. So she left. Just…gone. Everyone knew Alphard helped
her get out.”

James brings the glass of whiskey close to his face, examining with furrowed brows how the
last rays of sunlight cut through the amber liquid. His expression is unreadable. “Do you
think Alphard helped Sirius?”

“No. He couldn’t have. Alphard died a few months after Sirius turned sixteen. It devastated
him.” Regulus rests his cheek on his knee and watches the sky slip from dark blue to hues of
yellow, orange, and red. “He left Sirius a wicked record collection. David Bowie, Queen, the
Beatles… Sirius was obsessed. He bought an old record player and everything. It was like
he’d walked out of the seventies after that. I didn’t care much for most of it, but I’d sit in his
room and listen to him explain his favorite songs.”

These memories are a poisonous barb. They’re the most vivid—and some of his last.
“He didn’t forget his records when he left,” Regulus murmurs, swallowing around the lump
in his throat. “He brought all of his favorites with him.”

Something unreadable flickers across James’ features, but the look is there and gone too
quickly for Regulus to decipher it. James’ expression is smooth again when he asks, “Do you
think Sirius still would’ve left even if your uncle and cousin hadn’t?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” Regulus replies without hesitation. “He talked about leaving even when
we were kids. But back then it was a lot of ‘we’ll become pirates, Reggie,’ and ‘maybe we
can go to the moon someday.’ He never wanted to be in that house or a part of our family. He
always wanted freedom.” There’s an ache in Regulus’ chest growing more persistent by the
second. “But I think Alphard and Andy gave him the courage to do it, in the end.”

He drops his head back against the cabinets with a weighted sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if
Andy helped Sirius the way Alphard helped her. Like maybe she gave him somewhere to stay
for a bit. I didn’t know anything about her. I was always closer to Narcissa. And Sirius had a
boyfriend he hid from our parents, so maybe… I don’t know. It’s not like he left me notes to
follow him or anything.”

Bitterness seeps into his voice, and he pulls his other knee to his chest. He’s not sure how the
conversation ended up here. Lately, the box he shoved Sirius into years ago spends more time
open than it does closed. No matter how hard Regulus slams the lid down or hammers nails
into its edges, his brother still manages to slip through the cracks and linger in the recesses of
his thoughts.

It’s infuriating, if he’s honest. It was easier to lie to the world—and himself—about Sirius’
existence. Even if he never forgave his brother, at least he could forget him.

“Would you have left?” asks James. His question pulls Regulus back into the quiet kitchen.
“If Andromeda had offered to help, I mean.”

“She didn’t though, did she?” Regulus shrugs one shoulder. “I just wanted to go with my
brother. I wouldn’t have cared how it happened so long as I ended up where he was. But
Andy never reached out, so either Sirius didn’t want her to or he never found her to begin
with. Regardless, it happened the way it happened. It doesn’t matter what I would’ve done.”

It’s said with such finality that James doesn’t ask any more questions even though plenty
swirl behind his eyes. Regulus doesn’t offer another piece of his past, either. It’s painful
enough when he doesn’t talk about it. Letting the words take shape makes it so much fucking
worse.

James continues to sip his whiskey in the thick silence. His gaze is faraway. He’s lost in his
own head as much as Regulus, who watches the sun dip below the horizon line and tries not
to think about his brother.

Some small, self-preserving part of him wishes they’d never gone to Milan. He could’ve
carried on with the status quo if he’d never admitted to James that he’s the Regulus Arcturus
Black. James said he would’ve never pressed for the truth. How long could Regulus have
maintained the lie? A long time, perhaps. Maybe longer than James would have deserved.
After so many years of lying to himself, Regulus really is a rather good liar when it comes to
others.

So what is it about James that has him offering up so many truths?

Shaking his head to scatter the bitter thoughts taking shape, Regulus slides off the counter.
James watches him run his fingers along the smooth edge of the island. He comes around to
rest his chin on James’ shoulder, his front pressed to James’ broad, solid back. It’s not
something he can do when James stands straight, so he delights in nipping at James’ ear, in
nosing at his curls.

“Let’s go to Paris,” Regulus says, more sure this time than before. He means it, scared as he
is to face the memories so attached to his childhood. “We can do all of the tourist shit, too.
Whatever you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. A city can’t hurt me. I need to stop acting like it can.”

James tilts his head so Regulus can trail delicate kisses down his neck. “Will you speak dirty
French to me in a dark corner of the Louvre?”

“Non.”

It’s a dramatic shiver, an exaggerated moan, and then a bright laugh when Regulus smacks
James’ ass. “Sorry, love. I’m a weak man, and French is so pretty on your tongue.”

“Really? Just French?” He trails a fingertip down the divot in James’ spine, feeling every
vertebrae and fighting a smile at the subtle, true shiver his touch elicits. He follows the curve
of a tattooed antler to the tip of James’ shoulder. “I can think of things far prettier than
French that you can put on my tongue.”

James makes a strangled, pained noise. He downs the last of his whiskey in a single swallow,
then turns and bends his knees to loop his arms around Regulus’ thighs. It’s easy for him to
haul Regulus up and over his shoulder, and the deep rumble of his laughter is a balm over the
past few tense moments.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with a mouth as filthy as yours,” James says, marching
them out of the kitchen and down the hall.

Regulus takes advantage of how James carries him and slides a hand in James’ trousers,
squeezing his ass with a delighted laugh when James swears under his breath. Feeling
particularly cheeky, Regulus manages to brush his finger over James’ hole—and cackles
when James’ entire body goes rigid.

“Not a fan?” he asks coyly.

“Big fan, actually.” James kicks his door open but takes them into the bathroom instead of
tossing Regulus on the bed. “You just beg me to fuck you so much that I didn’t think you
were a fan of switching things up.”
Regulus scoffs. “I don’t beg that much. You’re exaggerating.”

“Sure I am, love,” James mutters, setting Regulus on the counter before he kicks off his
trousers and turns the shower nozzle to its second hottest setting.

“So if I wanted to…?” Regulus trails off, looking pointedly at James’ ass.

James snaps his fingers in front of Regulus’ face. “Eyes. Here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let me objectify you for a second.” Regulus bats James’ hand out of
his face and leans back on the counter. He loops his legs around James’ waist to keep him
close. “I’m asking seriously, though.”

“It’s like I said last week—I’m your conejillo de indias.” James’ tongue flicks out to wet his
bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth. Steam is already filling the bathroom and
fogging the mirror behind Regulus. “We can try whatever you want.”

“Maybe in Paris. It can be my Valentine’s Day gift.”

James quirks a brow. “Filthy little thing. Most people want jewelry, or designer bags. Fancy
dinners.”

“Aren’t you, like, ridiculously rich?” Regulus lets James tug off his briefs and toss them to
the floor. He hops off the counter and steps under the shower spray, glancing back over his
shoulder with a sly grin. “I thought I was getting all of those things anyway.”

“Filthy and spoiled, then.”

But James’ grin is blinding, all straight, white teeth and genuine humor, when he steps under
the shower spray behind Regulus. He reaches overhead for his shampoo, humming a tune
under his breath that only he knows. It’s easy, the last piece of their evening clicking into
place, and Regulus decides this lightness he feels could be his new normal.

Not even Paris can take it away from him.

Paris is almost exactly as Regulus remembers it, though some things have inevitably changed
over the years.

But there’s still elegance in even the simplest structures, trains whizz by faster than he can
make out their colors, and the pavement is full of people coming and going. He catches
snippets of conversation in French and English, as well as in other languages he doesn’t
recognize.

Aromas he hasn’t smelled in ages reach his nose while he and James walk hand in hand
through the busy streets. Stomach grumbling at the smell of freshly baked pastries, he drags
James inside the nearest café-brasserie for a drink and something light to eat. They’re seated
outside at a small, round table with a clear view of passersby. Regulus leans his cheek on his
fist, watching the world move along while James watches him.

“You know how you always tell me it’s hot when I speak in Spanish?” asks James, his lips
pulled between his teeth and a grin toying with the corners of his mouth. “That’s you and
French for me now.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and gently kicks James’ shin under the table. “Shut up. It’s just a
language.”

“Oh, is that what you tell yourself every time I speak Spanish in bed and you—”

His arm shoots out fast as lightning to cover James’ mouth with his hand. “Hush. Not in
public!”

It’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “As if you care,” he murmurs against Regulus’ palm. But
there’s a glint behind his glasses, that mirth and easy happiness Regulus has come to
associate with this man plain as day.

Their server appears with two glasses of red wine. He sets them on the table with a small nod
to each of them before he’s bustling away again.

“What time is dinner?” asks Regulus, bringing the glass to his lips. It’s a merlot from
Bordeaux, and he can’t help but smile when the liquid glides across his tongue. Round, he
remembers Narcissa telling him when he tasted merlot for the first time. Sometimes it tastes
like biting into a ripe berry. But the tannins are usually silky enough to ease the taste. It’s
smooth, isn’t it?

The memory brings with it a sharp pang, but it’s less painful than he expected it would be.

“Six,” James replies, leaning back in his chair. He rests an ankle on his knee, but extends his
other leg to hook it around Regulus’ under the table. His smile is mischievous behind the rim
of his wine glass. “Plenty of time. What do you want to do first?”

“Just this, actually. For a little while, at least.” Regulus closes his eyes and tilts his face to the
sky. It’s chilly, but his jumper is more than enough to keep the cold from biting his skin. It’s
midafternoon, the sun is high in the sky, and it’s a clear day. As much as he loves Paris’
museums and indoor architecture, he’s not sure he wants to spend their time inside.

Not when he and James can sit together like this, with glasses of red wine and the sun on
their skin. He likes listening to passing conversations. His mouth quirks at the corner when
he catches a snippet in French of a girl ranting about her terrible boyfriend; it seems his
personality is abysmal, but at least he’s good in bed.

Regulus opens his eyes to find James still watching him. His expression is unreadable, but his
eyes are warm.
“It’s nice to sit here with you,” Regulus says quietly, and James smiles so wide his cheeks
push at his glasses. “I don’t really need or want to do anything else.”

“Fine by me. You’re a much better view than anything Paris has to offer, anyway.”

“God, you’re cheesy,” mutters Regulus, but he can’t help mirroring James’ smile.

James laughs, a loud and carefree sound, and though it earns him more than a few pointed
looks, Regulus finds he doesn’t really care about the rest of the world when James is here
with him.

Their afternoon passes lazily by. They do eventually leave the café, but it’s only because
James worries they’ll be wine drunk well before dinner if they keep it up at this rate. The
streets and side alleyways are full of people, but they walk them hand in hand to keep close.

Regulus takes James to Shakespeare and Company, a quaint and well-known bookstore on
the Seine with an unobstructed view of Notre-Dame Cathedral. He doesn’t mention that this
is a place he used to come to with Sirius and sometimes Narcissa, nor that it looks exactly as
it did when he was in his teens, but maybe James guesses on his own. He lays a hand gently
on Regulus’ lower back, urging him forward and through the open doors.

The space is almost too familiar. Regulus runs his hands over worn wooden shelves. The
books are packed tight, some resting haphazardly on top of uneven hardbacks and paperbacks
lined up in neat rows. It smells exactly as he remembers, right down to the attached café with
its soft-spoken conversations and whirring machines.

New memories, he thinks, reading the titles of old and new books. Better ones, too.

Regulus orders a cup of coffee from the café while James continues to browse. He finds a
seat tucked in the corner. It isn’t the same one he used to sit at with Sirius, but it’s close
enough.

It’s strange to be back in this city, to sit here in this café, but it isn’t as terrible as he had
imagined it would be. Even though memories of his family lurk in so many corners and on so
many streets, some part of him wishes he’d come back sooner to reclaim Paris years ago. He
might not have been ready, but in truth, he’s not sure that he ever will be. All of this is like
ripping off the plasters he stuck on his stab wounds.

He sips his coffee and eavesdrops on strangers’ conversations until James appears with a
broad grin and a tote bag in one hand.

“Souvenir,” he declares, showing it off to Regulus. It’s a white canvas bag with blue lettering
and a sketch of the bookstore.

“No books?” asks Regulus wryly, a brow arched. He finishes the last of his coffee before
getting to his feet.

James shakes his head. “None that caught my eye. Pain in the ass to pack, too. Come on,
love. We’ve got a bit more time.”
They wind up walking on the pavement again, hand in hand and close together as afternoon
shifts to evening and locals begin their commutes home. Lights flicker on in preparation for
the night sky, and restaurants open their doors to eager dinner crowds.

“We should head back to the hotel and get ready,” James says, his chin resting on the top of
Regulus’ head while they stand waiting on a streetcorner for the light to let them cross. “I
know how long it can take you to get ready.”

Regulus elbows James in the ribs; there’s a quiet oof behind him. “I don’t take that long and
you know it. Plus, you take plenty of time yourself!”

“Sure, love,” James wheezes with a laugh. Before Regulus can elbow him again, the crowd
steps off the curb and pulls them along with it.

It doesn’t take either of them very long to get ready. Regulus is too excited to take his time,
though he refuses to admit this out loud. He opts for an air of nonchalance instead. Not that
he truly believes it fools James; he fiddles with his cufflinks and can’t stop fidgeting with the
buttons on his suit jacket. It’s a dead giveaway, and James notices too much about him not to
notice this, too.

At least he does Regulus the courtesy of keeping quiet even though the small smirk on his
lips says absolutely everything.

The restaurant James chose has three Michelin stars, not that Regulus expected any less.
Their seat next to a large window offers a stunning view of the seven arches of Pont Neuf that
stretch across a portion of the Seine to the small, natural island at its center. The sun has
nearly set, its reflection playing on the water, and Regulus finds himself so preoccupied with
the sky’s changing colors that he misses their server.

“Champagne,” James informs him when he startles back to reality to find the server already
walking away, his sharp coattails flapping behind him as he heads briskly for the kitchens. “I
figured we’ve both had more than enough wine today. It’s time for something different.”

Regulus snorts. “And you’re sure it’s not some sentimental attachment that made you choose
champagne?”

A wry grin flits across James’ face. “Me? Sentimental about champagne? No clue why I
would be.”

Their server returns a few moments later with a bottle and two flutes. He pours with an artful
flourish, but it’s nothing too dramatic. There’s an elegance to this restaurant, with all of its
fine white tablecloths and vibrant-colored chairs, that demands subtle art without
extravagance.

“To new and better memories for us both,” James says with a small, quiet smile meant just
for Regulus. He holds his champagne flute between them and waits for Regulus to clink their
glasses together.
Regulus opens his mouth to add more, to express the best he can what it is that’s grown so
large in his chest it’s become impossible to ignore, when he hears it.

A laugh, high and cold and a touch wild, from somewhere in the restaurant.

He whirls around in his chair. Champagne sloshes out of his glass and into his lap, but he
hardly registers the chill seeping through his trousers. He’s too focused on finding that laugh
amongst the small crowd of patrons. There aren’t many tables; this restaurant has four Euro
signs beside its name on Google. It isn’t somewhere people frequent casually, nor is it
someplace the average person can afford.

But it’s exactly the sort of place his cousin would visit.

“Regulus?” asks James, reaching across the table to circle warm fingers around his wrist.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Bellatrix,” Regulus rasps, still searching. His eyes move around the room at a breakneck
speed, searching each face. “She’s here. I heard her.”

“What? Love, there’s no—”

“Trust me, James. I know her laugh. It’s fucking maniacal.”

James squeezes his wrist. “Do you want to leave? I don’t see her anywhere, but if you want
to go, we can. I think I can cancel our—”

“There.” Regulus curls his fingers into the pressed, pristine tablecloth. His other hand
squeezes his champagne flute hard enough to crack the stem. “She’s over there.”

Over there is across the room entirely. But it doesn’t matter—Bellatrix has always had the
loudest laugh in their family. Not because it’s bright and open and full like Sirius’, but
because it cuts cruelly through everyone else’s. Look at me, it says, as if her presence alone
doesn’t demand the attention of everyone around her.

James swivels in his chair to look over his shoulder. “Shit,” he murmurs, catching sight of
Bellatrix across the restaurant. Her wild black hair is tamed into an updo, but her distinct
features and razor sharp cheekbones are trademark Black family traits. She’s impossible to
mistake once you’ve seen her.

“Fucking hell,” Regulus mutters, glaring into his champagne flute. Bubbles drift to the top
and pop once they reach the surface. “Can I ever escape them?”

What are the fucking chances? He’s never leaving London again. Ever. They don’t bother
him in London. Five years without incident and now he’s run into them twice in as many
months. For the briefest, nastiest second, he regrets ever starting this with James. It’s put him
too close to people who want to hurt him.

But he pushes the thought away as soon as it comes. It isn’t James’ fault his family is full of
undiagnosed sociopaths who seem to enjoy stalking him whenever he steps foot out of
London proper.
“I don’t think it’s coincidence they’re here, love,” James says quietly, looking away from
where Bellatrix sits. She speaks in fast, polite French. At her side sits her husband,
Rodolphus, who watches the rest of the table with sharp, hawk-like eyes.

Regulus looks up to find James wearing a frown in the double creases between his brows.
“What do you mean you don’t think it’s a coincidence?”

“I think…” James chews on his bottom lip, his trepidation clear. But Regulus understands.
He’s thought it for a while himself, but he hasn’t wanted to acknowledge the truth of it. Or
what it means. “I think they’ve been following you for a long time. It’s no coincidence your
mum showed up in Milan, either. She wasn’t on the guest list, and I checked it many times to
make sure.”

“Then how did she get in?”

James levels him with a pointed look. “How do any of us get in anywhere? We pay—a lot.”

“I don’t matter enough for all of this,” Regulus whispers, slumping forward in his chair.
Thankfully, neither Bellatrix nor Rodolphus have glanced over at their table. “What do they
even want with me? I’m nobody.”

“First of all,” James says with steel in his voice, “you fucking matter. A lot. You are
somebody. So don’t say that ever again. And second, they want to know what you know.
You’re a liability—and a big one. If I had someone like you walking around with all that
knowledge? Basically sitting like a loaded cannon waiting to blow? I’d stop at nothing to
figure out how to keep you quiet.”

Regulus snorts, but it’s humorless. “Good to know you’d stop at nothing to track me down,
too.”

“It just makes sense. You do matter, especially to them. Not in the ways you should, but…”
James trails off with a heavy sigh. “They want you back in the family. It’s easier to control
you if you’re close and on a leash. And you’re slipping into their spheres of influence more
and more. Especially with me.”

There’s a strained quality to James’ voice that makes Regulus look at him full on. Does he
know that just a moment ago Regulus thought he might regret this? Regret James? Does he
know that for the briefest second, Regulus wanted to take it all back and disappear?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Either way, Regulus replies with a firmness that rivals James’ own, “I told you I didn’t care
about that. I really am tired of looking over my shoulder like my family will pop out like the
Boogeyman. Especially if we want to travel or attend events together outside of London. I
just—I don’t think it’ll get any easier. And this is our Valentine’s Day dinner, for fuck’s sake.
Why do they need to ruin it?”

James’ frown deepens. “Are they? Ruining it, I mean.”

With a sharp clack, Regulus snaps his mouth shut. There’s hurt on James’ face even though
he’s quick to hide it. He might wear his heart on his sleeve, but James is damn good at
pretending he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus finally says, pulling his wrist out of James’ loose grip to intertwine their
fingers. “I didn’t mean it like that. Sometimes my words come out all wrong. They’re not
ruining it. I won’t let them.” Regulus glances over James’ shoulder to where his cousin and
her husband sit, still deep in conversation with a man he doesn’t recognize. “Besides, I don’t
think they’ve noticed me. Bella wouldn’t be subtle about it if she had.”

“And if they do notice you?”

“Then fuck them. Fuck all of them.” Regulus sits straighter and squares his shoulders. He
nods once, thankful to see some of the tension leave James’ frame. It boosts his confidence;
he can do this. He can stop being afraid of them. “No more looking over my shoulder. No
more worrying about what the fuck they want from me. This is our dinner, and we’re going to
enjoy every course.”

James smiles fully, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Regulus lets himself think it might
really be alright. That he might be alright.

He and James settle into easy conversation over various elaborate courses. They laugh
together, easy as breathing, and drink champagne until they’re both a bit fuzzy around the
edges. Across the restaurant, Bellatrix and Rodolphus remain oblivious to Regulus’
existence.

After a while, Regulus breathes a little easier and smiles a bit wider. He’s fine. Their evening,
their date, this entire trip to Paris—it’s fine. More than fine, actually.

It doesn’t come crashing down around him until he excuses himself to go to the restroom
shortly before their dessert course.

He’s in the middle of washing his hands and checking his reflection in the mirror when the
door swings open. At first, it doesn’t trigger any alarm bells. But then dread, cold and
terrible, trickles through him until it settles like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t
need to look left to know who’s stepped into the restroom with him.

“Reggie,” Rodolphus says in his low, gravelly voice. It sets Regulus’ teeth on edge. The use
of his nickname—the one Sirius gave him and only Sirius was ever allowed to call him—
doesn’t help matters. “It’s so good to see you. I heard from your mother that you were alive
and well. Glad to see she was telling the truth.”

Regulus snatches a paper towel from its fancy dispenser to dry his hands. He inhales a shaky
breath deep into his lungs before he turns to face his cousin-in-law. “Rodolphus,” he replies
drily. “It’s not normal behavior, you know. Following other men into restrooms and cornering
them.”

“Who said I’m cornering you?” Rodolphus tilts his head. His eyes are dark, his nose
aristocratic and as strong as his jaw. He’s never been unattractive—he’s tall, with a head of
neatly-kept black hair—but the way he carries himself is enough to make looking at him
incredibly uncomfortable. Like even though he’s lovely on the outside, there’s nothing human
underneath. “I’m simply asking how you’re doing, since you don’t seem inclined to offer the
same pleasantries to Bella and me.”

“Since when have we ever been pleasant with one another?” Regulus tosses his paper towel
in the bin. Everything in this restaurant is too fancy, too expensive, and though he imagines
they meant for it to be warm and comforting, the end result is anything but. The bright colors
make him nauseous.

Or maybe that’s just Rodolphus.

“Let’s be honest with one another,” Regulus says flatly. He’s not in the mood to play games.
He wants to go back to his table and enjoy the rest of his evening with James. He will not let
them all ruin this. “You’re not here by coincidence, are you? Maman sent you.”

Rodolphus’ grin is wicked and knowing. The stone in Regulus’ stomach sinks to the floor.
“Of course she did.”

“What the fuck is wrong with all of you?” Regulus has to fight to keep his voice even and
lowered. His anger spikes hard and fast; not a single part of it is under his control. “You’ve
left me alone for five fucking years. What do you want from me now?”

“Your mother is concerned that you’re a bit too close with Mr. Potter. But I suppose she’s
right, if the behavior between the two of you tonight is anything to go by. Enjoying a lovely
Valentine’s Day?”

“That’s none of your business. I told Maman in Milan that what I do now is none of her
concern.”

Rodolphus scoffs. “Our concern is whether or not you’re plotting something with him, not
that you’re fucking him. We both know that you have a little too much information, and
James Potter… Well, he has the means, doesn’t he? You have to understand why this keeps
your poor mother awake at night.”

“You’ve always lacked tact, Rodolphus. Like a bull in a china shop.” Regulus leans a hip
against the sink and crosses his arms. Rodolphus is taller than him, but he stands far enough
away that it feels as though they’re eye level. “I’m keeping all of your secrets. There’s no
plan to ruin your lives. I’m just trying to enjoy mine away from all of you. Why can’t you let
me do that?”

“And Sirius? How is he?”

Regulus’ eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in ten years. Why? Have
you?”

“Not exactly.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Rodolphus shrugs one shoulder but offers no explanation. There’s no point in asking; this is
all a fun game to him, and he’ll enjoy watching Regulus beg for answers. “After your
boyfriend’s stunt in Milan, we’ve all been a bit on edge.”

“Good. You fucking deserve it.”

“We’re family, Regulus,” Rodolphus says emphatically. He takes a step forward.

Regulus takes a full step back.

“Look, I know things haven’t always been great between you and I—”

“Understatement of the fucking year, Rodolphus.”

“—but your parents care about you, Reggie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—and they miss you. We all miss you. You were always such a good kid. You never broke
the rules. Your parents were thrilled when Sirius left and you would be the one taking his
place.” Rodolphus takes another step forward.

Regulus takes another full step back.

“They knew the company and all of its assets would be in good hands with you. Sirius
stressed them out. He was always so—so rebellious. So hotheaded. But not you. You really
know how to keep it together, Reggie.”

“Enough. Rodolphus, enough.”

His palms are sweaty. He forces himself not to tug at the collar of his shirt or loosen the tie
around his neck. He won’t show Rodolphus his weaknesses. He won’t give this man anything
to report back to his mother.

“Personally, I don’t think you’ll do it. You would’ve done it already.” Rodolphus takes
another step forward, but this time, there’s nowhere for Regulus to go. His back meets the
wall. “You’re not brave enough to do it. But Sirius? Sirius would’ve done it the second he ran
from their house. Hell, we both know it would’ve been the first thing he did.”

Regulus grits his teeth. Rodolphus is close enough that a wave of his cologne hits Regulus;
he nearly gags on the smell. It’s too strong, and it reminds him of one of his less favorable
clients who has to be reminded many times throughout the night to keep his hands off.

“But you? You’ve always been just a little bit softer than your brother. Haven’t you? A little
bit weaker. Sirius is a leader, and you’re a follower. It happens between brothers sometimes.
We can’t all be strong.” Rodolphus shrugs again, and Regulus wishes he could smack the
smirk right off Rodolphus’ smug face. “There’s nothing wrong with being a follower, Reggie.
The world needs them.”
“I’m not a follower,” Regulus snaps. He’s beginning to feel like an animal cornered in its
cage. How long has he been in here? How long has Rodolphus kept him trapped against this
wall?

“No? Well, that’s not what I heard…”

Regulus works his jaw, desperate for relief from the overwhelming stench of Rodolphus’
cologne and this too small, vibrant as fuck bathroom. Has James noticed his absence? Will he
come looking?

“Here. I have something for you.” Rodolphus reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
His smile is far from kind, and the sight of it makes Regulus’ stomach roll. “Hold out your
hand so I can give it to you.”

“No.”

“Reggie, come on. I don’t bite. And your present sure doesn’t.”

“No. I don’t want it.”

Rodolphus rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic. Walburga warned me you might be. She
said you would remind me of Sirius, and I have to admit she’s right. You really haven’t
spoken to him? Or are you just that desperate to be him?”

“Fuck off, Rodolphus,” Regulus seethes, taking a step forward to push at his cousin’s chest.
It’s hardly anything, but Rodolphus takes a step back on his own. “You’re trying to get under
my skin for some unknown fucking reason, and I’m not—”

Everything goes awfully quiet at the sight of what Rodolphus holds out to him. It lays right
there in the middle of a large, calloused palm. So small and insignificant, smaller than a
sticky note, and yet…

“What the fuck?” whispers Regulus, his eyes on the small, clear packet of fine, white powder.
“What the fuck?”

“I told you, Reggie. I brought a gift.”

The bitter taste of bile in his throat. His tongue too thick and heavy behind his teeth.
Memories of nights that are little more than blurs of color or stretches of black. Waking up on
the floor of a stranger’s flat with little recollection of where he is. Who he is. Stumbling
inside clubs and through alleyways on the arms of terrible men.

“That’s not—What the—” Regulus takes a step away and presses his back against the wall.
It’d be great if a hole opened up and swallowed him. He wants to disappear. He wants far, far
away from Rodolphus and the little packet in his hand. “This is fucking cruel, Rodolphus.
Even for you. Even for Maman.”

“It’s a gift, Regulus. What’s wrong with a gift? And it’s a bloody expensive one, too.
Could’ve bought Bella a lovely custom Louis with what this cost me. Really, you should be
grateful. I doubt the money you make as a stripper can buy you snow this good.”
Regulus’ skin crawls. He aches to scratch at it, to crawl right the fuck out of it. To ease the
uncomfortable feeling of a thousand tiny legs scratching at him underneath his suit. It’s too
hot in this small room, but he can’t escape. Rodolphus takes up too much space; there’s no
way to push past him without touching him, and the thought of touching him is enough to
make Regulus sick to his stomach.

“I see you’re a bit overwhelmed by the gift,” Rodolphus says with a slight frown.
“Understandable. Walburga did say you might have a strong reaction to it. Nothing wrong
with that, though. I enjoy a bump myself from time to time.” Rodolphus pauses; it’s
weighted, too pointed, and Regulus flinches even before the words come. “Then again, you
seem to enjoy more than a mere bump from time to time.”

“Get out,” Regulus says through gritted teeth. “Just—Just go. And take your stupid fucking
gift with you. I don’t want it.”

Rodolphus’ smile cuts across his face. “Need and want are not the same thing, Reggie.
Remember what I said. We miss you. Your parents miss you. They still believe in you.
Everyone has given up on Sirius, but we won’t give up on you. There’s just too much
potential.”

Regulus says nothing. His muscles are wound so tight his tendons and the sinew holding him
together will snap like rubber bands any second now. He makes a soft, defeated noise when
Rodolphus leaves the packet on the nearest sink’s edge.

No, no, no, no, no.

With a light wave and jovial see you soon, Rodolphus opens the bathroom door and
disappears. For a few seconds, the tiny room is full of mixed sounds—silverware on fine
plates, glasses clinking in a toast, conversations he can’t make sense of, laughter bright and
cheery.

Until the door shuts and the bathroom is quiet again.

Regulus leans against the wall and groans. His head spins. Every inch of his skin is too itchy.
Panic grips his throat. It’s almost impossible to take a full breath, and his lungs scream at him
when he tries.

“Fuck,” he breathes, stumbling forward to grip the sink’s edge. He twists the nozzle for cold
water and splashes his face. He just needs to cool down. He’ll be alright once he can catch his
breath. In the mirror, his frazzled, panicked reflection stares back at him with wide, gray
eyes.

God, he’s a mess. An absolute fucking mess.

He needs fresh air in his lungs. The pungent smell of Rodolphus’ cologne still lingers. It
makes him want to turn on his heel and march right for the toilet stall. But this sort of nausea
never results in anything other than a stomach-aching dry heave that wrings all of the
strength right out of him.
“Fuck,” he says again, quieter this time. More defeated.

His gaze settles on the small packet just inches from where his hand curls around the sink.
He’d guess it’s no more than an 8-ball. It’s been years, but the ability to measure exactly how
much cocaine is in a packet this size is something he may never, ever forget.

Water drips from his chin. Droplets hit the sink basin with a steady plink, plink, plink. The
whole world narrows to this moment, and everything goes eerily quiet.

It’s a gift, Rodolphus had said, his smile terrible and cruel.

Sirius is a leader, and you’re a follower.

The world needs them.

Regulus should flush it down the toilet. There’s a stall right behind him. It would take less
than five seconds. How long has it been since he stopped? Two years, maybe. No, three.
Definitely three. It’s a blur, but he remembers Barty and Evan pulling him out before his
twenty-first birthday.

He remembers sitting in a circle with his lips sealed tightly shut while others shared their
stories.

Mine isn’t anything special, he’d said, hedging around the gentle, probing questions asked by
the group therapist. I’m not an—an addict. I just partied too hard. It was fun until it wasn’t.
That’s all. But I’m fine now.

It was so easy to convince himself this was the truth. Once he stopped partying and hanging
out with the people who would supply him with all the alcohol and drugs he wanted, it wasn’t
like he missed or craved it. He’s fine. He’s been fine for three years.

Hasn’t he?

His fingers twitch around the sink basin. How long has he been in here? Will James come
looking for him soon? Fuck, he hopes not. He doesn’t know how to explain all of this. He
doesn’t know how to explain Rodolphus or the gift he left.

Will James be angry with him? Disappointed? Frustrated?

Regulus isn’t sure which is worse.

And if he’s so fine, so well-adjusted and back to normal, why can’t he snatch the packet and
flush it down the toilet? Why is he still stood here staring at it like it might grow legs and
cling to him like a spider?

“Fuck,” he says for the third time. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Throw it away. Flush it down the toilet. Get rid of it, Regulus, get rid of it. Get rid of it, get
rid of it, get rid—
The bathroom door swings open, and sounds from the restaurant come rushing in. Regulus
nearly jumps out of his skin. He snatches the packet off the sink and shoves it in his pocket.
His heart hammers a jackrabbit rhythm in his throat. Maybe James didn’t see it. Maybe James
didn’t—

“Shit, man. Sorry to spook you.”

It’s not James, but a stranger. His accent is American, and he gives Regulus a small smile
before dipping into the only bathroom stall.

Regulus blinks several times, as though he’s finally been pulled from a daze. His heart
refuses to slow no matter how many times he tries to count down from one hundred. He
fumbles in the eighties more than once.

He can’t stand here. This man will think he’s gone round the twist. But he can’t drop this in
the bin, either. What if Rodolphus comes to check? What if somehow he convinces the
restaurant staff Regulus put it there? What if someone else finds it? What if James finds it?

No.

No, he’ll hold onto it. He’ll hold onto it until they get to their hotel room. Then he’ll flush it
down the toilet and be done with this. With all of it.

He can do that.

The clear little packet feels like a cement block in his pocket. It weighs him down with each
step he takes towards the door. But it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. He tells himself this again
and again, because if he doesn’t then James will know something isn’t right. He might
already be curious about Regulus’ prolonged absence.

But it’s okay.

It’ll be fine.

He’ll throw the drugs away the second they’re back in their hotel room, and James won’t
have to know Regulus ever had them in the first place. I’m fine, he’ll lie through a dazzling
smile, just as he’s done a thousand times before. Just a bit nauseous. Might’ve had too much
champagne. Or maybe it was one of the sauces.

Regulus repeats it over and over in his head—I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fucking fine—until the
lie feels a little more like the truth.

Until he can convince even himself to believe it.

Only then does Regulus push the bathroom door open, take a deep, steadying breath, and slip
out into the restaurant where James still waits for him with that beautiful, devastating, and
completely clueless smile.
Chapter End Notes

:) are we having fun?

i wrote these upcoming chapters to "imgonnagetyouback" by Ms. Swift from The

Tortured Poets Department because that song feels like she reached into my brain,
plucked cmu jegulus right out of it, and then wrote a song about them. i mean — "i'm an
Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch" ? ? ?? ?? ??? ? the sheer number of
people who've sent me this line is honestly my favorite thing in the world hahaha

anyway! there is unlikely to be an update until May 12th because i have 5 bar class
exams between April 29th - May 10th, and i'm going to be extremely stressed and
borderline ready to die. but i'll still be writing these two, so if by some miracle i manage
to finish Ch. 14, it'll be here. but i'd also rather not sacrifice these next few chapters for
the sake of updating.

last thing: a quick note regarding Regulus' past with drugs.

his story is heavily influenced by a close friend offline who struggled with cocaine. he
used "recreationally" (his words), which is to say always at parties/when going out. he
managed a full-time job, went to school part-time, and was otherwise entirely unlike
what society perceives an addict to look/be like. however, he couldn't go out with
friends on the weekends without doing cocaine, and he'd often spend his entire Sunday
recovering from binge drinking and using. he also started partying a lot, because
partying would equal cocaine, and since he only did it while partying, it was easy for
him to excuse it as "just for fun."

Regulus is very similar. he intentionally didn't refer to himself as an addict when he told
James his story in Milan. he doesn't call the help he received "rehab." he distances
himself as much as possible from the idea that he actually has a problem. and the
problem with how he's used in the past is it's very easy for the addict to convince
themselves they aren't an addict, because again: they don't look or act how an addict is
"supposed to" (they do, but they don't think so).

even when he was rock bottom, Regulus still functioned in his daily life without raising
suspicion. this often leads them to not get the help they need or to convince themselves
they're fine and no longer need help, which also puts them in danger of a relapse
because they don't accept the problem, and thus don't learn the tools to manage it.

🫠
especially when, like Regulus, it's tied to trauma and poor coping mechanisms that
honestly need lifelong therapy

anyway, cling to that HEA tag and i'll see you in the next one!
 i’ll be naked when i leave and i was naked when i came
Chapter Summary

paris, part two

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

It’s both an art and a curse that Regulus can hide his spirals as well as he can. He shouldn’t be
this good at it, but it’s as easy as breathing to sit across from James and smile like nothing is
wrong.

Like he isn’t crumbling to dust underneath his fine suit.

“You alright, love?” James asks when Regulus slides into his seat. “You were gone for a bit.”

Regulus grabs the dessert menu and shoots James a coy smile. “I just wanted to make sure I
still look good for you. Took longer than I expected.”

There’s a flicker across James’ features, so quick and subtle Regulus almost misses it. It’s
unreadable, and it leaves him with an itchy feeling all over his skin. But James merely says,
“You look perfect. Now tell me, what’s a good dessert to have in Paris on Valentine’s Day
weekend?”

A little more of Regulus crumbles. “A classic crème brûlée never misses.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

An invisible puppeteer pulls at the strings hooked through the corners of Regulus’ mouth. He
smiles, and he crumbles, and he laughs, and he spirals. Throughout it all, James appears
completely clueless to how Regulus only holds himself together because he hasn’t allowed
himself a second to fall apart.

The cocaine in his pocket burns a hole through the fabric of his trousers. It’s such a small,
nondescript thing, and yet he can think of nothing else while they share a plate of crème
brûlée.

James tells him about Effie’s house in Puerto Vallarta, currently under renovation so it’s
ready for summer. He talks about Monty’s ranch in Guadalajara and the repairs still needed
before it’s up and running. James even mentions his uni days and adventures with Peter, who
Regulus has come to learn is a close friend turned employee.
“Pete’s mum is doing better lately,” James says, pulling the spoon from his mouth with a
satisfied grin. He’s doing all he can not to devour the entire dessert on his own. Regulus
hasn’t eaten much of it except a few bites here and there. His appetite is long gone. “He said
the treatments have been working, and…”

Over James’ shoulder, Regulus has a clear view of where his cousin and her husband sit.
Rodolphus never looks his way no matter how much he stares, and Bellatrix continues to
laugh with the man sitting across from her. They ignore Regulus entirely, as though he
doesn’t even exist.

It’s a mind game. He knows this, and still he lets it fuck with his head. Their choice to ignore
him even when they know he’s here is a deliberate one. It only adds to the spiral he’s on.
What’s their plan? Why even bother? Can’t they leave him alone and let him—

“Baby, you’re hardly eating.” James reaches out to brush his fingertips over the back of
Regulus’ hand. He hadn’t realized he’s clutching his spoon tight enough his knuckles are
bone white. He loosens his grip immediately, and the puppeteer pulls his strings again.

“Shit, sorry,” he says evenly. “I think I’m fuller than I realized. Maybe a little champagne
drunk, too. It’s making me space out.”

The barest flicker, gone as fast as it comes. “Should we take it with us?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No, no. Finish it. This is good crème brûlée. Don’t let it go to
waste on my account.”

He wishes the lies didn’t come this easy, but they roll right off his tongue. Why wouldn’t
James believe him? He’s hiding it well. He knows he is, because he’s done this a thousand
times before. So it’s his own damn fault he’s crumbling to pieces and completely alone. He
can’t blame James for not noticing; he’s a master at this. Even his friends can’t always see
when he’s seconds from disappearing, and they’ve known him for years.

It would be nice, though, if James noticed him crumbling.

Instead, James finishes their plate of crème brûlée and calls for the server to pay the bill.
Regulus sees triple digits and looks quickly away. He’s not sure why the money bothers him
all of a sudden. Perhaps because it’s a little more salt in one of many wounds.

James offers a hand to help him to his feet, then whisks him out the door with a reassuring
palm on the small of his back. He isn’t able to see Bellatrix and Rodolphus as they leave;
James stands between him and his direct line of sight to their table. He’s not sure if he’s
thankful or frustrated.

“How was it?” asks James once they’re standing outside the restaurant. The sun is long gone,
and the moon is high and full. There’s a slight chill in the air, but James’ hand is warm when
it slips into Regulus’.

“Good. Definitely worth the three Michelin stars.”

“Mm. I agree.”

Regulus stares at the still waters of the Seine and tries not to think about how obviously
stilted their conversation has become. This is no better than the weather is nice tonight, isn’t
it? It’s not their usual. But he doesn’t have the energy to offer more. His mind is everywhere
except here.

If it wasn’t for James’ warm, grounding touch, Regulus would be so high in the clouds he
might never come down. He fights the urge to stick his other hand in his pocket. To touch the
small, plastic packet burning a hole through fabric and skin.

“Anything in particular you want to do tomorrow?”

“Not really.” Regulus flinches at his own bland tone. He shouldn’t sound so disinterested.
James just spent hundreds on Valentine’s Day dinner. Regulus should be a little more
grateful. A little warmer. He clears his throat to amend, “I’ve lived in Paris long enough that
I’ve managed to do it all, so I’m fine doing whatever you want.”

“Got it. Then I’ll try to think of something special you haven’t done.”

A simple thank you would suffice, but Regulus can’t manage it. His throat has closed up and
his eyes are starting to burn.

They’re standing under a flickering lamppost on a deserted street corner. James tugs Regulus
to him, and Regulus goes willingly. At least, he thinks he does. He’s not in control of his own
limbs anymore; someone else has taken over. He’s merely along for the ride.

But perhaps this is easier. He wouldn’t trust himself to operate heavy machinery right now,
much less the complex workings of his own body. All he can hear on a terrible, mocking loop
is you really know how to keep it together and you’ve always been a little bit softer than your
brother. Rodolphus’ words bounce around in his skull until that gravelly, awful voice twists
itself into his own, and he’s not sure what he remembers and what his mind has made up.

Was it Rodolphus who called him weak, or is it what he’s always thought of himself?

Maybe both.

He couldn’t even flush the drugs. A stronger person would’ve been able to do that at least.
They wouldn’t have shoved it all in their pocket to carry it around. They wouldn’t lie to
themselves and say things like, It’s okay, because you’ll toss them when you’re back at the
hotel.

He’s not an idiot.

Even he knows he won’t.

So maybe he is soft. Maybe he isn’t worth a damn thing to anyone, except as a pawn to be
used and—

“Alright. Enough of this.”

Regulus squeaks when a strong, familiar hand grips his jaw. It tilts his head back until he’s
forced to meet James’ imploring gaze full on.

“You’ve been stuck in your head since you came back from the bathroom. I know you’re
spiraling.” There’s such an intensity in James’ eyes that Regulus couldn’t look away even if
he wanted to. “I tried to ignore it because I didn’t want to push you. Not in public and with
your family sitting so close. But I can’t pretend like I don’t see it. You’re seconds from a
breakdown.”

“Oh.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it’s all Regulus can manage. Subconsciously, he’s snuck his hand
into his pocket. Plastic burns against his palm. “I thought you didn’t notice,” he admits. The
world narrows to this moment. Everything that isn’t him, James, or the flickering lamppost
overhead fades away. “You didn’t say anything, so I thought…”

The grip on his chin softens. James moves his hand to cradle the base of Regulus’ skull, and
his fingers tangle in the curls at Regulus’ nape.

“You don’t hide it as well as you think. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Oh, mi amor,”
James murmurs, and Regulus’ heart trips, stumbles, flatlines. They stand close enough he can
pick out flecks of gold in James’ eyes.

He’s been called love and amor in equal measure. They’re pet names like all the rest. Little
things just for Regulus to enjoy and call his own.

But he knows what mi means, and he knows what it changes.

James has made this slip only once before: when he looked up with wide, doe-like eyes from
in between Regulus’ thighs. At the time, Regulus hadn’t put a whole lot of thought into it. He
blamed it on James’ brain fritzing at the sight of him in a skirt; it was an accidental slip of the
tongue.

This time feels different.

“Say it again,” Regulus whispers, and James grins with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Mi amor.” He leaves a lingering kiss between Regulus’ brows. “Mi amor.” A kiss to his
temple. “Mi amor, mi amor, mi—”

“In English.” Regulus inhales deep into his lungs. He’s clinging to the lapels of James’ suit
jacket. “Please. Say it in English. I used to say things in French when I wanted to hide how I
felt. It was easier, and I—”

“My love.”

Regulus’ body arches towards James’ warmth, and he lets out a breathy, “Oh.”

It makes James chuckle. “I’m not hiding how I feel. I can say it all in English, too. But you
get this adorable, dreamy look on your face when I say it in Spanish.”
“Ugh. You ruined it.” Regulus rolls his eyes and shoves at James’ chest. He feigns irritation,
but his laugh is real. It doesn’t taste like one that belongs to someone else. “Oh,” he says,
because this seems to be all he can say tonight. “I’m—I think I’m back.”

“Oh, thank God. Now will you tell me why you disappeared for the last thirty minutes?”

“Can we walk and talk?”

James arches a stern brow. “Only if you actually talk.”

“I will. I’ll talk.”

“Alright. Then we’ll walk.”

It’s busy along the river. People come and go now that it’s later on a Friday evening. Regulus
falls into step next to James on the pavement. He catches snippets of passing conversations,
and for a brief second, he panics that he’s in danger of slipping out of his skin again. But
James squeezes his hand, a gentle reassurance, and Regulus squeezes back, a confirmation
he’s still here.

“Rodolphus,” he finally admits, twisting to stay out of the way of a passing group of French
girls who giggle behind their hands. “He came into the bathroom while I was in there and
said a bunch of shit to me.”

James makes a low noise. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t start. I can go to the bathroom on my own.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No. I’m not a child. I don’t need you to chaperone me everywhere.” Regulus almost laughs
at how James’ face screws up into a dark, pinched scowl. Passersby clear out of his way at
the sight of his thunderous expression, and it’s another minute before it fades back into his
usual warm, open friendliness. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, anyway. Rodolphus
would’ve said his piece regardless.”

It’s James’ turn to dodge a group of young men barreling past. “I just don’t understand why
they avoided you the entire time. Especially if they knew you were there. Your mum came
right up to you in Milan…”

“I think it’s fun for them to play games. They always used to try and fuck with my head when
I was younger. Especially Bellatrix. It’s her thing.” Regulus sighs, then adds, “Anyway,
Rodolphus said Maman is a little freaked out after Milan. I think she’s worried I’ll use you to
help me expose them.”

A frown creases James’ brow. “But they don’t even know that I know… Do they?”

“I don’t think so, but it might not matter if they’re assuming I mentioned it. Maman always
plans for everything.”
“Fair. I mean, I can help you if you want me to, but I don’t think you need my help. The FIU
would be happy to talk to you about this with or without me. So I’m not sure why my
involvement has them so on edge. It really changes nothing.”

The hand not currently held tight by James’ sneaks its way into Regulus’ pocket. He blames
it on the chill numbing his fingertips.

“Did Rodolphus say anything else?” James asks, artfully dodging a couple deep in heated
conversation.

“No.” Plastic burns in his hand. “He just said some shit about Sirius.”

James’ frown deepens. “What did he say about Sirius?”

“He said I’m softer than my brother. Weaker. That my parents miss me and they were happy
when Sirius ran away. It meant the son they trusted would have control of the company.”
Regulus laughs bitterly. “More like they trusted the son they knew they could control.”

“They can’t control you. Not unless you let them.”

These days, Regulus isn’t so sure. It didn’t take much for Rodolphus to knock him off his
high horse. What planet does he live on that he truly believes he won’t spend the rest of his
life looking over his shoulder? He wonders if Sirius has the same fears, or if his brother
somehow managed to carve out a life that doesn’t involve their family.

And Sirius? How is he?

Regulus squints without really looking at the faces of people passing by.

I haven’t spoken to him in ten years. Why? Have you?

Not exactly.

His question still stands—what the fuck did Rodolphus even mean? Walburga said they
didn’t know where Sirius was when Regulus ran into her in Milan, but Rodolphus’ cryptic
response makes it seem like they do know.

Or maybe this is just another ploy to fuck with his head, to make him question whether Sirius
is really as “lost” as he seems. But they would flaunt it, wouldn’t they? If Sirius was back in
their clutches, then surely Regulus would know. Besides, Sirius would never go back.

…Right?

Regulus shakes his head. He doesn’t know his brother anymore. Maybe Sirius had a change
of heart and ran home with his tail tucked between his legs. Perhaps he’s waiting for the right
moment to show up on Regulus’ doorstep and say, Hey Reggie. It’s been a while, as if it’s
only been ten months rather than ten whole years.

“Hey,” James says, shaking him gently. “You’re doing it again. Come back to me, love. They
can’t control you, okay? They couldn’t then, and they can’t now. It’s why they keep cornering
you. They’re terrified of you because you’re not caving under pressure. You’re not going
back. You left like Sirius, and you’ve stayed gone.”

“Sometimes it does feel like it’d be easier to just give in,” Regulus admits softly.

“But you won’t. You would have already. The fact that you’ve been through what you’ve
been through and you’re still not running home? You’re not weak, Regulus. You never have
been.”

They reach their hotel sooner than Regulus anticipated. James leads him by the hand through
the front lobby, where the receptionist ducks his head and bids them bonsoir with a small,
tight-lipped smile.

“I won’t run back home. I won’t make it that easy for them,” Regulus says with a note of
finality. He steps into the lift behind James and leans against the back wall.

“Good.” James scans their room key over the reader, and the lift begins its quick, smooth
ascent. “They don’t deserve you. No one does.”

“Not even you?” Regulus quips, but he’s surprised to find James’ usually humorous smile is
inexplicably sad.

“Especially not me.”

Before he can ask, the lift dings, the doors open, and their dimly lit suite comes into view.
James holds out his hand. His smile is no longer sad, but his expression is still strange.
Regulus slides their palms together anyway. He uses their interlaced fingers to pull James to
him once they’re both out of the lift. It’s second nature to lean in, to loop his arms around
James’ neck, to slot their mouths together in a familiar kiss.

“I’m sorry I ruined the end of our dinner,” he whispers when they break apart.

“You didn’t ruin a damn thing, Princess. Don’t apologize.”

Regulus kisses him again, but this time isn’t as gentle as the last. He runs his tongue along
the seam of James’ mouth, and when James opens for him, he takes a plush bottom lip
between his teeth and sucks. James reacts immediately; the noticeable twitch against
Regulus’ hip spurs him on, makes him hungrier.

He bites and sucks, using the piercing in his tongue to his advantage and to bring James to
heel. Fingers twist in his curls, but it’s not enough. He needs a sharp sting, a strong pull.
More, more, more, he thinks, pushing James against the wall.

A strong thigh slots between his legs, and Regulus rolls his hips for friction. He moans low
and wanton, his desperation mounting. This is a dance he knows. There’s an end to it that
he’s familiar with: weightlessness. It’s a not-in-his-body feeling that comes after being
pushed to a delicious breaking point.

James can get him there. He’s done it before. It’s a place where Regulus forgets his own
name. He’ll forget where he is and who he is. Even if it’s only the briefest second, it’ll be a
moment of bliss, and he won’t have to be whatever this is.

“Baby,” James gasps into his mouth. “Baby, you—”

Regulus swallows the words off of James’ tongue. His fingers fumble with the buttons on
James’ jacket, then the pesky smaller ones on his button down. There’s a slight tremor in his
hands that he hopes James doesn’t notice. He’s still cold from their walk. All he needs is skin
on skin, and that warmth only James can give him.

More,

more,

more.

James tastes of crème brûlée and the vintage wine they drank with dinner. It’s divine, and
Regulus searches for more of it with each filthy, open-mouthed kiss. He could get drunk off
this taste alone. Maybe he already is; his head spins from wine and French dessert and James.
From the way their kisses have turned insatiable.

He breaks away to kiss along James’ jaw to the soft hollow behind his ear. Regulus follows
the thick cord in his neck where his pulse beats erratically, tugging at his belt buckle with
trembling but nimble fingers. Next are the buttons and the zipper of his trousers, and then—

Yes, Regulus thinks when his hand wraps around a hardness thick and hot, the skin velvet
under his palm. He swallows James’ groan exactly as he’s consumed every other sound.

“Reg, love, you’re not—”

I’m fine. This is fine. This is good. I need this. He twists his hand to emphasize the thoughts
in his head, and James whimpers. It’s a needy, addicting sound. Regulus busies himself with
the hollow of James’ throat, exposed now that his shirt hangs open at the front. Everything
here is sandalwood and citrus. It’s home. His head spins a little. He doesn’t want this to end.
He’s dizzy, but that’s good. Dizzy means he’s a little closer to where he needs to be, which is
far, far away from himself.

“I don’t—Regulus, you’re not—Oh, fucking hell. Cinnamon.”

Regulus goes so rigid he thinks even his pulse has stopped. He blinks several times to clear
the fog in his head before pulling slowly away to look up at James. “Did you just…?”

“Safe word you? Yeah, I did.” James drops his head against the wall. His breath comes in
heavy, short gasps, and he squeezes his eyes shut. With a slight grimace, he circles gentle
fingers around Regulus’ wrist to urge Regulus to let go of his cock. “You’re not—Something
isn’t right, love. This feels…off.”

“What do you mean? I’m—”

“Do not say you’re fine. I’ve kissed you a lot. We’ve fucked a lot.” James pinches the bridge
of his nose before shoving his hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “But I’m not going to
fuck you if you only want to have sex because it helps you forget.”

Cold chases away all of the fire in Regulus’ veins. There’s no point in denying it; James has
read him like an open book. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”

“Because I know the difference, Regulus. I know you well enough by now to know when
you’re here with me, and when you’re trying to slip away.”

“I’m sorry.”

James drops his hand and opens his eyes. They’re red-rimmed. A little watery. “Quit
apologizing. Please. I just want you here with me. Not somewhere else. Not lost in your
head.”

The apology hits him like a reflex, and James flinches before he’s even finished the word
sorry.

“Baby, stop. I don’t want an apology. I’m not—That’s not what I want, okay?” James inhales,
holds his breath, then exhales slowly. His hand comes up to cradle Regulus’ cheek. “Why
don’t we slow down for a sec? We can take a long shower. Maybe a bath. We both smell like
ridiculously fancy French food, anyway.”

“No, we don’t. You still smell like you.”

“Doubtful. How exactly do I smell to you? I’m sure it’s—”

“Home,” Regulus blurts, and James’ teasing grin turns to open-mouthed surprised. “You
smell like home.”

James looks as taken aback by the admission as Regulus is. It’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it?
Regulus’ cheeks heat, but he’s too caught by James’ stare to look away. What does it even
mean to say a person smells like home? He’s never considered it, but he knows without a
doubt that home is exactly how James smells.

It’s why Regulus’ own bedding isn’t right. It was never a thought before, but he knows the
difference now. He’s spent weeks waking up with his face buried in soft linen that smells
exactly like what clings to James’ skin. Every morning he smiles, happy until he’s made even
happier by an arm thrown over his middle or a hand following the dip of his waist, the curve
of his ass.

But while it might all be true, he didn’t mean to admit it out loud now.

James is so goddamn silent, too. A thousand thoughts swirl in hazel pools. A million
inscrutable feelings twist together, but he’s been rendered speechless. He merely stares at
Regulus with his mouth open and his eyes wide.

Embarrassed and flustered, Regulus grabs James’ hand and tugs him towards their bedroom.
“C’mon,” he mumbles, turning away so James can’t see how his cheeks burst into flames.
“Forget I said that. It was weird. Shower time, right? Because yeah, you do reek of crème
brûlée now that I think about it. It might be my favorite French dessert, but not—”
“I love you.”

Regulus comes to a screeching halt. The bottom of his stomach falls out of him at the same
time his heart leaps into his throat. He turns slowly to look over his shoulder. “What?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I—” James runs a trembling hand through his curls. It makes his hair
stick up in every direction, unruly as ever. He’s kinetic, positively buzzing, and he lets out a
startled little laugh that’s borderline hysterical. “Yeah, I—I think I’ve been falling in love
with you since Milan.” Another hysterical laugh. “Shit, who am I kidding? I’ve been falling
in love with you since I first saw you.”

Regulus doesn’t move. He’s not even sure he’s breathing.

“And maybe tonight isn’t the best time to tell you, but I—” James makes a strangled noise,
and Regulus can see how his mouth works faster than his brain now. This is James with his
heart on his sleeve, brave and bleeding all over the floor. “I love you, and I need you to know
that I love you no matter what you—Reg?”

Regulus doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s because James has a warm hand cradling
his cheek, and he’s come to accept that James’ touch grounds him. It makes him feel safe. Or
maybe it’s less of what James said and more of what he means.

There are two voices in Regulus’ head. One screams keep it hidden and safe, while the other
shouts don’t do it; he won’t understand. But James’ words are louder, bouncing all around
until I love you is all he hears. It’s enough to give him the strength to reach inside his pocket
and wrap his whole fist around the clear bit of plastic.

He inhales, holds, exhales.

Inhales, holds, exhales.

“Reg? Are you alright?”

Wordlessly, he brings his fist up to hover in the narrow space between their chests. James
says nothing even as the silence stretches on a little too long. Finally, after one more deep
breath, Regulus turns his fist over and unfurls his fingers one by one.

At the center of his palm is the little packet of white powder.

“What is—” James squints at Regulus’ open hand suspended between them. “Is that…?”

“Cocaine? Yeah.”

James’ gaze snaps up. There’s blatant panic and confusion in his eyes. “Why do you—Where
did you—?” And then, quick as it came, his confusion clears. Fury takes its place.
“Rodolphus,” he says through gritted teeth, his voice low and threatening. “He gave it to you,
didn’t he? When you were in the bathroom?”

A slow, defeated nod. It’s all on the table now. “A gift.”

“A gift? Oh, that is… That is so fucked.” James’ gaze flits from Regulus’ hand to his eyes
and back again. “Regulus, you realize how fucked up this is, right? For him to give this to
you… Seriously, what is wrong with them?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounds terribly small and strained. James doesn’t seem angry with
him, but he can still feel palpable rage filling every corner of their bedroom. “But it’s like it’s
not enough to remind me they’re always watching. They keep throwing my past back in my
face, too. It just… It makes me sick.” Quieter, he adds, “It makes me want to disappear.”

James swallows audibly. “Did you…?”

“No. No.” Regulus shakes his head hard enough to rattle his brain against his skull. “No, I
didn’t snort it or—or anything like that. I meant to flush it at the restaurant, but someone
came in and I panicked because I thought it was you, and I thought you would be angry with
me if you saw this, and I—I don’t want you to think that I’m back there. You know? And
now I just have it, but I don’t know what to do with it and it’s—it’s—”

He doesn’t know when the tears started, but they’re here—and fucking hell are they flowing.
He swears under his breath and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. The other
remains frozen and suspended between them, the cocaine a third person in the room now that
Regulus has let it out.

Until James’ palm covers his, pressing the packet between them, and James uses his grip on
Regulus’ hand to pull him forward and into a warm, sturdy chest.

“I’m not angry,” James murmurs. He buries his face in Regulus’ curls with a soft sigh. “Not
with you, anyway. I want to kill Rodolphus, but that’s not your fault. None of this is.”

James’ shirt is already unbuttoned and pushed open, so it’s easy for Regulus to lay his cheek
against warm skin. He can hear James’ heartbeat like this; it beats strong and steady as ever.

“I’m so tired,” Regulus admits softly. “I don’t understand what they want from me.”

“I told you, love. I don’t think they’re going to stop. And this… I had my suspicions about it
on the way here, but this only confirms them for me.” He tangles his fingers in the curls at
the nape of Regulus’ neck. “They want you to relapse, Reg. I think that’s their goal. Because
what credibility do you have if the tabloids catch you partying with hard drugs?”

Regulus’ mouth bunches to one side. “Who cares about my credibility?”

“Everyone, if you decide to go public with what you know. Especially if it’s against your own
family.”

“But it’s been years! I get that they see our relationship as a liability or something, but it’s
been so long since…” Regulus squeezes his eyes shut. Their bedroom is lit by nothing more
than the moon, but it’s still too much. There’s an ache blooming at his temple. “When will
they go back to forgetting that I exist? Why won’t they leave me alone? What’s changed?”
“I hate to say this, but it’s probably me.” James sounds resigned, if not a little defeated. “I
brought you into the spotlight again. I probably painted a huge target on your back. I know
you said you’d rather face them with me than alone, but…”

Panic seizes Regulus, and he tightens his hold around James’ waist. “I don’t want to lose you.
That would be… No. I’m not going to let them drive a wedge between us. That’s letting them
win, and you know it. But I’ll admit that it’s harder than I thought to be in their space. To
know that they’re around. But I’m not running. I promise.”

“I believe you, love. I don’t think they’re going to leave you alone any time soon, but we’ll
figure it out together. Okay?”

Regulus nods. There isn’t much else for him to say. His life has flipped upside down entirely
since James came into it. He’s reluctant to admit that sometimes, when he’s alone in a dark
living room with nothing but Lego pieces and his own thoughts to keep him company, he
wonders if all of this is worth it, or if he’s a fool to think he can have his cake and eat it, too.

His life before James wasn’t perfect, but it was quiet. He dated a little. Slept with whomever
he wanted, or went home alone if he wasn’t in the mood. He spent Friday nights with his
friends. Shopped with the girls on free weekends. Danced whenever he wanted more money,
and didn’t work when he didn’t feel like it. He went to classes, and studied, and filled his
days with comfortable monotony.

But would he really go back to all of that now that he’s had this? Even he knows he was
lonely. Maybe not all of the time or to a consistently noticeable degree, but there was an
absence he felt at times and didn’t know how to fill. There were pieces of him asking to be
seen by someone who thought he mattered for more than a quick fuck or slew of shitty dates.

There are parts of him that James has thawed these last few months. Parts no one else has
even bothered to look at, much less attempted to touch. He wishes he could be brave enough
to open his mouth and just say what he feels, but he can’t. He isn’t like James. The words
don’t come easily to him. Instead, his tongue sits heavy behind his teeth, laden with all that
he leaves unsaid.

It’s James who finally breaks the silence.

“Do you want to flush it?”

Not what Regulus was expecting, but maybe it should’ve been. He sniffs, cheeks sticky with
drying tears, and says, “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“No.”

James pulls back to look at him. He searches Regulus’ eyes, but there’s no judgment on his
face. Merely resigned acceptance. He opens his mouth to say more, but Regulus beats him to
it.
“I don’t want to, but I should. I have to.” He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “If this
is what it takes to prove them wrong, then I’ll flush it.”

“What about you, love?” James’ voice is unbearably gentle. “Fuck them. All of them. What
about you?”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it on my own. If I was, I would’ve done it at the
restaurant.”

James purses his lips, lost in thought for a moment. “What if I help you? Would that be
alright?”

“Help me?”

“To flush it. You don’t always have to do it on your own. It’s okay to ask for help sometimes.
Especially with something like this. You had help before, didn’t you? It’s okay to ask for it
again.”

Regulus cocks his head. “You sound like Pandora. She’s always telling me to ask for help.
She says I take on too much on my own.”

“Yeah, well, she’s right.” The ghost of a smile plays on James’ lips. “Did you have a plan? To
flush it, I mean. Since you didn’t at the restaurant.”

“I was going to do it while you were sleeping… Maybe. I don’t know.”

There’s a quiet but understanding sadness in James’ eyes. He tugs Regulus into the bathroom
and flicks on the light. It’s smaller than James’ back in London, but there’s still plenty of
space for a clawfoot tub and a shower big enough for two. There’s even a tiny room with a
toilet.

It’s this door that James opens.

He steps inside first to lift the toilet seat, then maneuvers their bodies so his chest is pressed
against Regulus’ back. It’s an awkward affair with their hands still clasped tight around the
packet of white powder, but they manage.

“It’s on your time,” James says, settling his chin on the top of Regulus’ head. He holds their
joined hands close to Regulus’ chest. “I’ll wait. Take as long as you need.”

Regulus squeezes James’ hand. The tiny packet’s sharp corners cut into his palm. “Feels like
a waste,” he mumbles, though he’s not sure where it comes from.

“What does?”

“This. The coke. It probably cost a fortune.”

James’ hum is a deep rumble against his back. “Do you want anything your family offers
you?”
“No.”

“Then do you really care that it cost a fortune?”

Regulus sighs. “No. I don’t.”

“Then fuck them. It’s their loss. They shouldn’t have even bought it.” James holds their
joined hands over the toilet bowl, but he doesn’t let his grip ease.

In the end, it’s still Regulus’ choice to let it go.

Your parents care about you, Reggie, and they miss you.

James is right—fuck them. They’re lucky Regulus hasn’t pulled the plug on all of their lives.
It would be so damn easy. A simple phone call, a tip to the right authorities, and the ball
would start rolling.

You were always such a good kid. You never broke the rules.

They’re lucky he won’t do it without Sirius. That despite how much he’s come to resent his
brother, this is still something Regulus won’t do without him. It’s asinine, but it’s all that
holds him back. His family has no idea what a blessing it is that Regulus won’t give up on
waiting for his brother and make the move on his own.

Personally, I don’t think you’ll do it. You would’ve done it already.

Of all the things Rodolphus said, this part is true. Maybe someday he’ll give up on Sirius and
decide to rip the rug out from underneath his family’s feet, but that day isn’t today. And
maybe it’s not tomorrow, or the day after, or even a year from now. Maybe he never does it.

But at least he knows his mother lies awake at night wondering when her youngest son will
tear it all down.

Considering the sheer number of sleepless nights she’s given him over the last twenty-three
years of his life, it’s a small victory to know he’s affected her just as much. It’s not as
vengeful as it could be, but for now, it’ll do.

Regulus loosens his grip on James’ hand. A little more, and their palms unstick. Then he
disentangles their fingers. It isn’t until their hands fully separate, the little plastic baggy
stubborn and clinging to his clammy skin, that he truly holds his breath, waiting for the
inevitable. Eventually gravity takes hold—and the drugs fall into the toilet with a soft plop.

Before he can change his mind or regret what he’s done, Regulus lurches forward to push on
the lever. The water swirls around the bowl, funnels down, and disappears, taking the little
packet of white powder with it.

In the aftermath, Regulus doesn’t know whether to feel relief and regret.

“I’m so proud of you,” James says, kissing the crown of his head. “It wasn’t easy, but you did
it.”
“Can we shower now?” Regulus shudders. His jaw aches from clenching it so hard and for so
long. “I feel like I need to scrub my skin raw. And I promise I won’t try to jump you.”

James laughs; it’s too big and round for the small space, but Regulus basks in its warmth
anyway. They leave the little toilet room, and Regulus kicks the door shut behind them. He
doesn’t rush to undress, but James strips out of his suit in record time. He leans against the
counter to fiddle with his phone—completely nude.

When he catches Regulus staring, he grins and asks lasciviously, “See something you like,
Princess?”

Scowling, Regulus flips him off and turns the shower nozzle until the water comes out
scalding. It fills the bathroom with thick steam in minutes. He tries to keep his gaze from
wandering to James’ broad chest, to the sharp cut of his hipbones. To that damn trail of dark
hair leading to neatly trimmed curls.

“I hate you,” Regulus mutters, yanking open the shower door. “Pick your damn playlist and
put your dick away.”

“I’m nude, in case you didn’t notice. Where exactly do you expect me to put it?”

A wicked grin spreads across Regulus’ face, and James realizes a fraction of a second too late
what he’s said.

“Walked right into that one, didn’t I?” He pushes off the counter with an amused sigh. Lofi
music plays from the Bluetooth speaker between the two sinks. He leaves his phone face
down, then steps under the scalding spray behind Regulus.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but you set it up perfectly. So yeah, you walked right into it.”

Regulus giggles at James’ slight scowl, and for the first time in hours, he feels a little lighter.
It eases the tightness in his chest and the anxiety that’s twisted his stomach into knots. The
relief makes him giddy, and he can’t resist flicking soapy water in James’ face and delighting
in their joined laughter.

It only fades when James presses him against the slippery shower wall and tilts his head back
to gain access to his neck. James kisses over his throat slowly. Licks a line from his Adam’s
apple to his chin before taking his bottom lip between straight, white teeth. He moans, unable
to hold it in, and James chuckles lowly before ducking his head to mouth at the hollow of
Regulus’ throat.

This time is better. It’s less frenzied than before. Regulus isn’t trying to escape his skin; he
wants to be in it. He wants to feel soft linen underneath him when James lays him out on the
bed. Their skin is still wet and water drips from the ends of their hair, but they’re too
absorbed in one another to give much thought to anything else.

Regulus thinks it might be the slowest and sweetest James has ever had him. There’s no
urgency; James isn’t trying to push or test his limits. He curls a hand under Regulus’ thigh,
all of his weight on his forearm and his face buried in Regulus’ neck. He moves deliciously
slow, and Regulus feels everything.

James murmurs indecipherable words into Regulus’ skin, most of which are said in Spanish.
He doesn’t bother to translate, and Regulus doesn’t ask. He picks up words he knows here
and there—hermoso, mostly; and Dios mío; and something with quiero that trails off, all of
the syllables slurred and incomprehensible. Regulus doesn’t think much of it, content to let
the words remain lost on him.

Until James drops the heaviest three words he can, just as suddenly and easily as before.

“I love you,” he whispers, brushing his lips over Regulus’ ear. It sends a shiver down his
spine, and James’ smooth, slow rhythm stutters. “You don’t have to say it back. I just need
you to know.”

Regulus opens his mouth to respond, but James captures his lips in a hard, bruising kiss that’s
nothing like how gentle he moves.

“Don’t,” he says, and Regulus’ brows pull together. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Just…don’t, Regulus. Please.”

He wants to ask, because James’ expression looks exactly how it did when they were in the
lift. It doesn’t make sense. Regulus hadn’t planned to answer James’ confession. Not yet.
Even if he feels it, the words aren’t ready to take shape. But there’s something unsettling
about the sadness in James’ eyes.

Regulus only shakes the feeling when James rolls them over and pulls Regulus back down to
him. His hands spiderweb between Regulus’ shoulder blades, and his kisses grow more
urgent. Regulus lets himself get lost in this again. He whimpers when James adjusts his hips
to get the angle just right. Stars explode behind Regulus’ eyes, and he breathes a soft little oh.

James catches it, holding Regulus in a deep kiss. He curls a firm hand around Regulus’ length
to stroke him, and Regulus breaks faster than he thought he could with it this slow and gentle.
He trembles in James’ arms, their stomachs sticky and their skin sweaty, until James’ hips
still, and he feels the telltale burst of warmth inside him.

“Jesus Christ,” James murmurs, swallowing thickly. There’s a sated grin on his face, and he’s
gone boneless underneath Regulus. His glasses are a little lopsided on his nose. “I promise I
love it rough, but that? God, that was good.”

Regulus lays his cheek on James’ chest and traces his initials over James’ heart. It hammers
against his ribs, beating in time with Regulus’. “I’m definitely not complaining.”

“Do you ever?”

“There’s that ego I’ve missed so much,” Regulus deadpans. He snickers when James flicks
him between his eyes. “What? You know I’m right.”
James makes a disgruntled noise, but rather than argue, he asks, “What are you tracing?”

“My initials.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. Gonna leave ‘em right here.” He pokes James’ pectoral muscle, digging his finger in
until his nail leaves a tiny crescent moon behind. “Make ‘em permanent.”

A gentle hand brushes through his curls. They’re still damp and clinging to his forehead.
“You sound tired. Did I wear you out?”

“No.” But even as Regulus says it, his lashes flutter. “Just need a little nap. Nothing too long,
I promise.”

“Whatever you want, love.”

Eventually James slips out of him and rolls them over. Regulus dozes for a little while, his
dreams filled with the lofi music still playing from the bathroom speaker. James snores softly
in his ear. He should get up and shower, even if it’s only to scrub the sweat from his skin and
the lube from his inner thighs, but he can’t move. His bones are too heavy, and his limbs are
so damn tired.

Regulus isn’t sure what time it is when he wakes fully, but their room is still dark. He lies on
his back and stares at the ceiling. After a few minutes, he tries to go back to sleep. James has
shifted onto his stomach with one arm thrown out over Regulus’ middle. The sheets pool
around their hips and tangle in their legs. Everything is so damn warm and soft, and in a
perfect world, he would fall back asleep.

But in the middle of the night when all is quiet, Regulus’ mind begins to wander. His
thoughts are full of Rodolphus’ cruel, cutting words. And when they aren’t, they swirl around
don’t, not yet, please. He sees James’ crestfallen expression in his mind’s eye and can’t shake
it no matter how hard he tries.

Who can let a confession like that slip but still look so sad when they say it?

Defeated and resigned to another night of poor sleep, Regulus carefully dislodges himself
from James’ arms and legs. He needs a warm shower. Maybe it will help him want to sleep
again. It’s worked before, and he doesn’t have a set of Legos to occupy his brain until it’s
ready to turn itself off. He could read a book on his phone in the living room, but he’s not
sure he wants to get lost in a story. Sometimes that does more harm than good.

He shuts the bathroom door behind him with a soft click. James’ phone still lays face down
on the counter, but he doesn’t bother to turn off the music. It’s relaxing enough. Besides, the
silence might wake James. It’s better to leave it.

Regulus’ shower is quick but not too hot. He scrubs his skin clean, then steps from the stall,
careful to shut the door quietly behind him. He slips on one of James’ oversized T-shirts and
a pair of clean briefs before brushing his teeth. His mind is a little clearer, but he’s not tired
enough to fall asleep again. It might be one of those nights where it’s better to accept his fate
rather than try to fight it.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror. There’s a love bite at the base of his throat. He
presses his thumb to it, a small smile on his lips. But before his thoughts can run away from
him, there’s a loud buzz on the counter and a vibration near his hand, which rests mere inches
from James’ phone.

At first, Regulus thinks nothing of it. But then James’ phone buzzes again, and again, only
for another prolonged silence to fall—until it’s interrupted by yet another vibration that he
feels in his fingertips.

Regulus stares at James’ phone. It lies face down on the counter, buzzing away in a pattern
indicative of text messages. A phone call would be more consistent; these vibrations are too
sporadic.

James is almost always on his phone to answer texts or calls, except when he pointedly puts it
on silent and tucks it away to spend time with Regulus. It’s never really struck him as odd.
His own phone is always forgotten somewhere, or on Do Not Disturb, or dead as a doornail.
Hell, it’s probably at 2% and still in the pocket of his trousers where he left them in a pile on
the bathroom floor.

James’ phone buzzes again, and unease settles in the pit of Regulus’ stomach.

When has James ever received texts this late? And at this frequency? He always keeps his
phone on his nightstand while they sleep, but it’s usually as silent as Regulus’.

So who the hell is bothering him this late on a Friday night, and with such irritating
persistence?

He catches the frown pulling at his face reflected back at him in the mirror. He’s wrapped his
fingers around James’ phone but hasn’t built up the courage to flip it over. He shouldn’t be
nosy. James never asks to look at his messages.

The phone buzzes against his palm.

Maybe it can wait until morning. It might be Mary or Emmeline, or one of the board
members bothering them in the middle of the night. It’s happened before, though James had
mostly ignored it then. I’ll deal with it tomorrow, he’d said.

So maybe Regulus shouldn’t. It’s not his phone.

It’s not his business.

This doesn’t stop him from turning the phone over in his hand anyway. Its screen remains
dark until it buzzes again.

Regulus’ knees give out half a second after James’ phone lights up. His heart plummets
through every floor of their hotel, taking damage all the way down to the bottom, where it
crash-lands with an awful, sickening splat.
No.

James’ phone vibrates in his hand again.

No.

No.

Regulus stares at the screen. Lofi music continues to play through the Bluetooth speaker, but
he barely hears it now. There’s a ringing in his ears. The whole world falls away the longer he
stares. He doesn’t blink, until his eyes begin to water and the screen blurs into indecipherable
shapes and colors.

James’ phone vibrates again.

There are nine messages now, according to the notification count.

No.

Later, when he looks back on this moment, he won’t remember stumbling out of the
bathroom. He won’t remember almost tripping over his own two feet in his panic.

But he will remember the sight of James—beautiful, wonderful, lovely James. His James,
lying there with an arm thrown out over the space where Regulus slept only moments ago.
James, whose tattooed back is on full display. Like this, Regulus can count each deep breath
James takes. In, out, in, out.

The rhythm is so much steadier than Regulus’ own breathing, which comes in short, panicked
gasps.

James hasn’t noticed Regulus isn’t beside him, but he will. He always does. Like a Regulus-
shaped sixth sense, James always seems to know when Regulus has slipped out of his bed.

Another buzz.

10.

Again.

11.

No.

James wouldn’t do this to him. He wouldn’t.

Not after everything.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Believing it means he’ll be forced to reevaluate every word
James has ever said to him. Every moment they’ve spent together.
 Every morning and night and hour in between that they’ve spent kissing, and laughing, and
sharing secrets.

The beginning. The middle.

The end.

12.

13.

Regulus’ heart breaks a little more with each vibration against his palm.

Because as much as he doesn’t want to believe it, and as much as he doesn’t want it to be
true, the evidence is right here in his hands.

Sirius
14 New Messages

Chapter End Notes

we all knew it was coming... it was really just a matter of when at this point 👀
but hear me out — I AM JAMES' #1 DEFENDER IN THIS STORY, so don't be tooooo
mad at him yet. Regulus is definitely about to be, but there are so many layers and

😔
there's so much that isn't James' story to tell. he just made a big, big oops and fell in love
with his best friend's brother

WHICH YEAH LET'S TALK ABOUT THAT, TOO. James blurting out "i love you"
because Regulus said he smells like home?!?! this man has NO chill. none. and he is
down so, so bad. and then not wanting Regulus to say it back because he knows it'll
destroy Regulus to be that level of vulnerable (like the HIGHEST TIER of vulnerability
for Regulus Arcturus Black), but at the same time wanting Regulus to know that he's
loved and that James loves him because that feeling is so, so real for James, and he
knows what's coming but he needs Regulus to understand and... oh, baby. oh, you
fucked up so bad and your intentions were so good but... sigh. still, i am the #1 James
Defender because i know what's going on in his head and he has struggle bussed for
weeks (i mean, i know all. but. y'know. semantics).

also it's so Sirius core to send 14 messages instead of just like... one. bc one probably
would've kept James in the clear for a liiiiiittle longer so it didn't blow up so bad. like
really Sirius, there's no need to make every sentence a new message. it's okay to send a
imploding at 2 a.m. like c'mon 😭
chunk of text and save your best friend from the struggle of his entire relationship
(but in his defense, he's panicking a little...) can i talk
about Sirius now? or should i just keep my mouth shut TIGHT about what he's up to?

on a lighter note: not their safe word being "cinnamon," which is my tiny nod to
divinitus because i'm basically that meme of the guy from It's Always Sunny in
Philadelphia. like i'm just standing in front of a wall with red strings connecting all of
my fics like "look! an Easter egg here! and one here too!" and i hope y'all didn't forget
about the real main character of this story: the Titanic Lego set sitting unfinished on
Reggie's kitchen table.

anyway yeah sorry if you thought the angst came in Milan with Walburga... nope, but
we're here now! yay! things are gonna be messy for a minute, but we'll get there. messy
Jegulus is my absolute favorite flavor of Jegulus, sooooo <3

on a personal note: I TOOK MY FIRST OF FIVE EXAMS TODAY 😭 i thought it was

supposed to be 3 hours but it was actually 3.5, so i cried a little when i sat down to take
it (apparently he emailed that he extended the time by 30 mins and i missed that so...
rip). anyway yeah i finished and was like "i need to write chew me up or i will actually
go a little insane," and that's what i did. so surprise, mid-exam season chapter woo! they
say with tears streaming down their face no but actually this story brings me a lot of joy
(despite the impending angst), so it was really nice and relaxing today to be creative
after so many days of stressful studying. Lily would be proud of me, but i personally
want to take a long walk off a short pier. again: rip.

sorry to leave y'all with a cliffhanger like this but... ah, well. i feel like by this point you
know what i like to do, which is finish a chapter and go *jazz hands* how we doin'? Ch
15 is a labor of love (but also like half written at this point so who knows what will
happen), but don't expect that one until at least May 12th. i'm good but like... i'm not
that good. i have 4 exams to take over 5 days so i will be crying a lot.

anywayyyyyy i hope you all enjoyed and i'll see you soon <3

also be nice in the comments or i will be forced to moderate them, and i hate doing that
but y'all can get out of pocket sometimes and forget there's a human behind the screen
writing all of this FOR FREE and sharing it with you FOR FUN. i am just trying to
write my silly little angsty stripper fic to help me get through this grueling and stressful
time, so pls don't ruin that for me. thank you and much love!!!!
 spilling secrets to the stranger in my bed
Chapter Summary

paris, part three

Chapter Notes

"but Nic, you said no update until May 12th?" yes, well, like James, i might've lied (i
realized how much i'd prewritten of Ch 15 and it didn't take a lot to finish and edit this
because angst is my favorite thing to write so i was vibin'). have a ball, y'all!

and thank you for all of the lovely comments on Ch 14 <3 i haven't had a chance to
reply to them because exams are kicking my ass (literally my only free time has been
spent writing or rewatching Shameless), but i read them allllll <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Contrary to popular belief, Regulus doesn’t always want to be right.

Growing up in Grimmauld Place taught him to trust his gut to a fault. Ignoring his instincts
often came with vicious, painful consequences. His mother’s backhand, his father’s fist.
Crueler still were their words, which lingered long after bruises faded and bones healed.

He learned how to read the cadence of his father’s footsteps and the set of his mother’s
mouth. A slight change in either could be catastrophic. In the event his father stomped rather
than ambled to his cabinet full of Scotch, or his mother’s lips all but disappeared, it was best
to make himself scarce or else be caught in the path of their ire.

These days, he no longer worries about the minute shifts in his parents’ behavior, but he
understands how what he learned during his childhood affects him even now at twenty-three.
His intuition is unmatched; the slightest change in behavior or status quo sets off alarm bells
he can’t ignore, and it’s incredibly rare for him to be wrong about his suspicions. It’s saved
him a thousand times over in the past.

But this time, it’s failed him when he needed it most.

“James, wake up.”

The words are out of Regulus’ mouth before he can swallow them. Self-preservation begs
him to run far away from here. No good will come from confrontation; he knows who he is
and what he becomes when he’s hurt. But fury tells him to pick up the shattered pieces of his
heart and sharpen the shards.

Do your worst. You know what it looks like.

He could level a small city with the rage burning behind his ribs.

“James. Wake up.”

Cold. Detached. Empty. Even to his own ears, his voice is unfamiliar. Maybe this is why
James doesn’t immediately stir from his deep sleep. He doesn’t know this Regulus.

There hasn’t been a reason for them to meet until now.

James’ phone vibrates in his hand. He squeezes it until his fingers ache. At some point, he
tried to unlock it. He doesn’t remember attempting different passcodes, but there’s a warning
that says he’s locked out from additional tries for twenty minutes. And yet the damn thing
still vibrates, taunting him. He wants to throw James’ phone across the room and against the
wall. If it lands right, it’ll shatter—an incredibly poetic way to start what Regulus knows is
going to be a monumental fucking disaster.

What if it crashes and burns?

And what if it doesn’t?

He hates that he was right in the end.

“James,” he says again, louder this time. “Wake. The fuck. Up.”

Finally, James jolts awake. He shifts with a low groan, burying his face in his pillow. It
muffles his words when he mumbles, “Princess? ¿Estás bien?” His voice is thick with sleep
and rough around the edges. It always takes a few minutes for it to smooth into its usual low,
gentle timbre.

For a fleeting moment, Regulus’ anger melts away and leaves him hollow. Carved out,
lifeless, and so fucking sad there’s a physical ache behind his ribs where the fire had burned.
He almost puts a hand to his chest, desperate to ease the pain for even a second. This is his
James slowly waking in front of him, and his James wouldn’t do this.

The phone buzzes again—Sirius.

No, this isn’t his James.

This man is a stranger.

“Baby, ¿qué hora es?” James rolls onto his back with another deep groan and rubs the sleep
from his eyes. The thin sheet twisted around his hips slips lower, and the outline of his cock
resting soft against his thigh makes Regulus swear under his breath. His temper spikes, and
he snatches James’ briefs off the floor to chuck them—hard.
“Put your dick away and get the fuck up.”

James pushes up on his elbows with a grunt. His eyebrows shoot clear to his hairline, and he
squints at Regulus, who stands at the foot of the bed with his arms limp at his sides. He still
clutches James’ phone like a lifeline.

“Reg?” James is tentative now, taking him in with slightly unfocused eyes. The room is dark,
lit only by thin rays of moonlight. “What’s going on? Why are you—What the hell? Shit.”

This time, it’s the phone. Regulus tosses it in a perfect arc, and James has to shuffle back on
his elbows once he realizes the phone’s landing trajectory is his half-exposed dick.

“I don’t know, James. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? Because you have five
seconds to explain why my brother is texting you at two in the fucking morning.”

James turns white as the sheets on their bed. He stares at the phone lying face down between
his thighs, the mixture of his shock and terror palpable. “Que chingados, Sirius…”

“It won’t bite,” Regulus snaps, his temper flaring the longer James stares, dumbfounded, at
the phone in his lap. “Go on. Pick it up. It must be urgent. Sirius has sent you almost twenty
fucking texts. Can’t imagine why, considering you don’t know my brother well enough for
him to be this comfortable with you. Right?”

An audible swallow. Fingers fisted in the fitted sheet until it pops off a corner.

“Pick up—the fucking—phone, James.”

It’s the sound of his name said like this—cold, detached, cruel—that shakes James back to
life. “Let me—Mierda, baby, you weren’t supposed to find out like this. Please, just let me
explain.” He snatches his glasses off the nightstand. His hands tremble, and in his hurry to
shove his glasses on, one of the legs pokes him in the eye. It takes several tries and crude
swears before he manages to put them on, but he doesn’t look at Regulus yet. He stares at the
phone in his lap, his expression full of agony.

“Go on, then. Explain it to me.” Regulus crosses his arms over his chest. He hates that he’s
still wearing James’ shirt. That it’s soft and familiar against his skin. “And what do you mean
I wasn’t supposed to find out ‘like this’? You—Wait. Hold on. That means… You were
hiding this?”

“It’s a long story. Please, let me—”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Reg—”

“What sane person hides something like this?”

“I didn’t—”
Regulus cuts him off with a cold laugh. “You let me tell you some of the most intimate parts
of my life. I told you about a past I can’t stand to fucking look at, much less talk about, and
you—you were hiding shit. You were hiding—” He sucks in a sharp breath. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you known Sirius?” He’s begging to any god who might listen. Honestly,
he’s not even sure he wants to know the answer. But maybe James will say a few days, or
weeks, or months. Regulus can handle that. They can come back from that. Maybe it isn’t
what it seems. Maybe his gut is wrong this time. Maybe it hasn’t been—

“Ten years.”

Regulus makes a noise like a wounded animal. But almost as soon as the hurt hits, the fire
behind his ribs consumes it. He knows how to weaponize his pain. There will be nothing left
of him when this is done, but for the time being, he has a tangible thing to cling to.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, curling in on himself. He takes several steps back until he
meets the wall furthest from the bed. “Was this—Have you been—Were you watching me for
him? Did Sirius—Oh, this is so fucked, James. Does he know where I am?”

“No. No! Baby, no, it’s—”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you fucking dare.”

James grimaces, but he nods. “Okay. I’m sorry. I know. Damn it. Just—” He scrambles to
pull on the briefs Regulus threw at him. His phone remains face down on the bed, but he
ignores it even when it buzzes again. “Let me start from the beginning. If I start there, it’ll all
make sense. I promise.”

“You—” Regulus barks a humorless laugh. “You promise? James, you just admitted that
you’ve known my brother for ten years. The same brother I’ve talked to you about a hundred
times. And he’s texting you at two in the fucking morning over, and over, and over again!
You understand your promises mean nothing, right?”

“I understand. I do.” James shuffles to sit at the edge of the bed. He braces his elbows on his
knees and drops his head in his hands, breathing a litany of swears before straightening to
meet Regulus’ gaze head-on. “There’s so much to this. And I know it’s fucked, Regulus. I
know. You can hate me at the end if you want. I won’t blame you. But please, please don’t
hate Sirius.”

Regulus sputters. His laugh turns high-pitched and hysterical. “Don’t hate Sirius? Are you
actually mental? Because those were the wrong fucking words to say to me, Potter.”

The use of his last name, and the distance it creates, makes James grimace. He runs a
trembling hand through his already disheveled hair. “It isn’t his fault. None of this is. It was
all me, and a bit of Remus in the beginning, but—”

“Wait. Remus?”
Surprise colors James’ features. “Oh. Yeah, they’re still together. Him and Sirius.”

“Holy shit.”

“They, uh, got married a few months after I met them. Sirius is a Lupin now. He dropped the
Black name a long time ago.”

“Must be fucking nice,” Regulus mutters bitterly. He slides down the wall an inch. He can’t
trust his legs to support him anymore. Sirius is married. And not to just anyone, either. Sirius
married Remus—exactly as he said he would when he was sixteen.

He’s it for me, Reggie. I know we’re still young, but sometimes you just know. And with
Remus, I know.

How much of Sirius’ life has worked out exactly as he wanted it to while Regulus’ has been
nothing but a mess? It pulls a sudden, bitter laugh from his chest. As usual, Sirius has
everything he ever wanted—and Regulus has only managed to pull together whatever scraps
were left for him. His hurt feeds the beast in his chest. He digs his nails into his biceps,
leaning into the sting.

James brushes a hand through his hair again and tugs harshly at the strands. “I don’t even
know where to start with all of this. Most of it isn’t mine to share. There’s just so fucking
much.”

“Ten years is a surprisingly long fucking time. It’s shocking, I know,” Regulus deadpans.
God, he’s so tired already. It would be easier to run than face this. He should’ve left when
James was still asleep. But he finds himself saying, “Start with the first night you came to the
club. Was it a coincidence or did you already know who I was?”

James exhales a shaky breath before he replies, “I already knew. I was there looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to find you. It was Sirius’ birthday the week before, and we had—”

Another wounded noise. Regulus slips an inch. His eyes burn, but he will not cry. He refuses,
even as the timeline comes together and it dawns on him. The first full week of November—
that’s when James appeared in his life. Not that Regulus would’ve ever put it together, but it
makes sense now that he has the pieces in front of him.

Sirius’ birthday was on a Friday, and Regulus smoked enough weed with Barty and Evan to
blur his memories. He didn’t want to think about his brother turning another year older. He
didn’t want to wonder what Sirius was doing to celebrate. And he especially didn’t want to
dwell on the ten years that had passed since he last saw his brother.

That night, he didn’t want to think about anything at all.

For the first time in a long time, he let Barty and Evan take turns fucking him until they
collapsed in a messy tangle of limbs shortly before four in the morning. Despite the weed and
sex adding to his exhaustion, Regulus didn’t sleep. He laid between Barty and Evan, lost in
thought and staring up at the ceiling. When the sun came up, he slipped out of his friends’
embraces. They curled into each other and around his absence exactly as they always did.

He left before the sun had fully risen, they didn’t talk about it after, and a few days later,
James walked into the club for the first time and turned his entire life upside down.

“Was it all a lie?” asks Regulus, his voice barely more than a whisper. Were we a lie? “The
first time you saw me. You said—” His voice cracks. It gives him away, and he swallows
around the lump in his throat. Pretty and handsome and beautiful all at the same fucking
time. “Tell me, James. How much of it was a lie?”

It’s James’ turn to make a strangled sound. He looks up, wide-eyed and terrified. “None of
it,” he says urgently. “I swear it, Regulus. All of it was—is true. It’s what fucked this all up in
the first place. I was only supposed to find you. Nothing more. That was the original plan.
But when I laid eyes on you the first time, I knew the whole plan was ruined. I’d never
wanted anyone more in my life.”

“There was a bloody plan?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it started on Sirius’ birthday. He was drunk. We all were. But he was really
drunk, and he kept going on about you. About his regrets, and how he—” James hangs his
head, breathing unsteadily. He wrings his hands in the space between his knees. “I can’t
speak for Sirius and I won’t, but it was bad. I’d never seen him like that before. He was so
worked up and…”

Regulus scoffs. “So you and Remus just took it upon yourselves to butt into my life? To mess
with my head? Because fuck me, right? So long as Sirius is happy and gets what he wants,
who cares about Regulus, right? Right?” His voice cracks again, and he curses his lack of
control. He needs to hold it together until the end.

“Yes, it was about Sirius. But only at first. You have to understand, Reg. I didn’t know you.
But I’ve known Sirius for ten years. You were a stranger to me. I’d only heard a few stories
from Sirius a handful of times. Please believe me when I tell you that the intent wasn’t
malicious. Remus and I just wanted to know if we could… I don’t know. Help? Honestly, I
don’t know what we were thinking. The shit between you and Sirius runs deep, but we
thought maybe… But I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then you should’ve left me the fuck alone.”

James winces. “I know. But I couldn’t. Not once I’d seen you. You were beautiful, and I kept
going back even after Remus called it all off. I’d leave the office fully intending to head
home, but I’d drive and wind up at the club and… It wasn’t about Sirius anymore. I wasn’t
going there for him.” He shoves his hands under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’m selfish,
Regulus. Before I’m most things, I’m an incredibly selfish and largely impulsive man. I’m
not proud of it, but it’s the truth. I took one look at you, and I just fucking wanted.”

The admission feeds a shamelessly hungry beast in Regulus. He hates it, this desire to be
wanted above all else. To be seen and craved and needed. He remembers the look in James’
eyes that first night he sat on the sofa in front of Regulus’ stage. It was hunger. Not predatory
like most men, but appreciative.

Regulus was a vintage wine James wanted on his tongue. Not to mindlessly consume, but to
savor like a proper sommelier.

“The original plan was for me to get close to you,” James continues quietly. “Remus couldn’t
do it because he thought you might recognize him, and Peter is too damn straight to even
pretend to enjoy a gay strip club, so it had to be me. And I did it. I got close to you. And I
knew the money would help. It made me stand out, and it made you pay attention.”

James blows air past his lips. “That’s really what drew me to you, even before I realized you
were Sirius’ brother. Honestly, I hoped you weren’t at first. One look from across the club,
and I saw how you knew you could wrap every man in there around your finger, but you
didn’t care. You didn’t dance for them. You danced for you. They were just lucky enough to
witness it. So for a second, I hoped you were someone else, and that I was just the luckiest
man alive to find a creature like you in the same place as Sirius’ little brother.”

Regulus slips another inch. His stomach twists itself into a thousand undoable knots.

“But you’re obviously one and the same. Christ, Reg, there’s so much fire in you. It was…
Watching you dance was fucking magic. And you watched me as much as I watched you, but
you knew what you were worth. You weren’t going to ask or beg. You didn’t throw yourself
at me like the others. You weren’t going to dance for me, because I wasn’t special.” James
rubs at the stubble on his jaw, chewing on his bottom lip. “So I made myself special the
second you gave me the chance.”

“So all of that was a lie. The money. The interest.”

“No. None of that was a lie. You deserve every bit of what I gave you. I wanted to give it to
you, and I do not want it back.” James steeples his fingers under his chin, watching Regulus
carefully. “I wanted you, but I knew I couldn’t really have you. There were rules, and you
followed them to the fucking letter at first. So it scratched some sort of itch in me to know
that no other man could do what I did. I liked knowing that even though you weren’t mine, I
had you differently than any man in there. I could give you more.”

Regulus drops his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “That’s why you didn’t ever
show interest in the other dancers. Because you weren’t there for them.”

“Strip clubs aren’t generally my thing. None of them ever mattered to me, Regulus. Even if
I’d wandered in there all on my own on a random Friday night, it would’ve been you and
only you every single fucking time.”

Another inch. Regulus struggles to keep his breathing even with each new piece that falls into
place. “Keep going,” he whispers. “There’s more to this. You’re not done.”

“No, I’m not,” James admits softly. “And like I said, Remus backpedaled quick. He’s not as
impulsive as me. Careful and meticulous planning is his thing, not mine. Once he realized
how volatile our plan was for you and Sirius, he pulled the plug. He thought too much could
go wrong, and his first priority will always be Sirius’ wellbeing. He was scared that you
might come into Sirius’ life and fuck everything up. He wanted to protect Sirius more than he
wanted to meddle between you two.”

“And you?” Regulus looks at James, unsure why he’s even asking this. He knows the answer.
“What did you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” James levels him with a weighted look. “I wanted you, Regulus. I was
addicted to you. You’d give me little tastes, these little pieces of who you were, and I wanted
more every time. You were opening up slowly, and I could see there was so much more to
you than what you let show on the surface. I thought that if I figured you out, then maybe I
could get you to a place where you would at least want to see Sirius or—or try and talk to
him. Something.”

Regulus stares in disbelief at the man sitting across from him. “You wanted to have your cake
and eat it, too.”

“I wanted to try. I didn’t want to let you go once I had you, but I couldn’t have you fully
because of Sirius. That first date at the restaurant… It changed everything. Remus thought I
was insane. He said it was a bad idea—”

“Should’ve fucking listened to him.”

“—but he didn’t know you like I was starting to. I was so sure that—”

“Did you ever stop to think about what I wanted?” Regulus blurts. “For even a second, did
you stop and think that maybe all I’ve ever wanted was for someone to do exactly what you
were doing?” His strength gives out, and he slips down the wall to the floor. He buries his
face between his knees and wraps his arms around his legs. It’s nearly impossible to steady
his breathing. “I know I’m not easy to love. I don’t know how to do…this. I’m mean, and I
don’t trust people, but I try. I do. And you saw me. You saw everything, and you still—you
—”

He doesn’t look up, but he hears James’ knees hit the carpet with a dull thud. “For what it’s
worth, you’re incredibly easy to love, Regulus. The problem has never been whether or not I
love you. You’re fucking brilliant. And I was so happy that I found you. All I wanted was to
know you. You, Regulus. Not Ophidian, or Sirius’ little brother, or whatever version of
yourself you thought was more palatable.”

Regulus chokes on a quiet sob. He buries it between his knees, collecting himself before he
raises his head. “But you knew how I felt about Sirius.” James kneels at the foot of the bed,
watching with trepidation from several paces away. It might as well be miles. “I understand
the beginning. It’s fucked, but that’s not what I’m so angry about. I told you everything in
Milan. I told you about Sirius and how much he hurt me, and you sat there and let me act like
a fucking fool. You knew the entire time.”

James shuffles closer, but he stops when Regulus shrinks away. “I was scared. It’s a shitty
reason, but it’s the only one I have. I didn’t want to lose you. Sirius still didn’t know. I was
looking at a messy, fucked up situation, and I was in way over my head. I knew I was falling
in love with you. I meant it when I said I don’t do things halfway. But I realized on that
bench in Milan that I had made a colossal fucking mistake when I chose to hide this from you
for so long.”

“Then why didn’t you just come clean? Why did you keep hiding it?”

“If I had told you then what I’m telling you now, would you have even let me explain?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No. I would’ve told you to go fuck yourself.”

“That’s exactly why—”

“And when this is done,” Regulus interrupts, his voice lifeless, “I will still tell you to go fuck
yourself.” He watches the words land. The man in front of him slumps forward, his shoulders
curled in and his eyes dull. “I trusted you, James. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my
life, except maybe my closest friends. I slept in your bed for weeks. More than a month! You
had a hundred chances to tell me, and you chose not to.”

James squeezes his eyes shut and exhales a shaky breath. “I know.”

“How did you hide him? If you’re such good friends, how did you keep Sirius from me for so
long?”

“We fought after Milan. It was really bad. One of our worst.” James shifts to sit cross-legged.
He keeps his gaze trained on the floor in front of him. “He wasn’t supposed to find out the
way he did. Remus knew I was still seeing you, but I wanted to ease Sirius into it. My plan
was to tell him, then tell—”

“Fuck you.”

It slips past his teeth sharp as a whip, his temper flaring hot again, and James flinches back as
though struck.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No, James. I mean it. Fuck you.” Regulus wraps his arms tighter around his knees. His
fingers dig into his biceps until crescent moons mar his skin. “Was Sirius the one practically
living with you? Was Sirius the one you fucked every morning and night? Was Sirius the one
you cooked meals for? Was Sirius the one you slow danced with in the kitchen? Was Sirius
the one you said ‘I love you’ to not three hours ago?”

He could keep going, but James has already cracked. His face falls, and all of his emotions
bubble to the surface. This is James with his heart on his sleeve, broken and bleeding all over
the floor.

“Answer me, James.”

“No, it wasn’t Sirius,” he says quietly. “It was you.”

“Then why did you still put Sirius first?”

James drops his head in his hands and looses a shuddering breath. All he manages is a softly
whispered, “Fuck.”

“You see it, don’t you? You understand now why I can forgive how this started but not what
it became.” Regulus wants to feel victorious. Instead, he’s empty. Hollowed out and so far
past hurt that he’s numb. But he’s not finished. “What happened after Milan? After the
fight?”

“Sirius and I didn’t talk for a while. He told me I had no business meddling like I did. Remus
got some of his anger too, but it was mostly me. I was the one who went and fell in love with
his little brother, after all.”

Regulus glances over James’ shoulder. From where he sits, he can’t see the offending phone,
but knowing it’s there is bad enough. It’s probably still buzzing, too. “Then why is he texting
you?”

“We talked it out a few days ago. He’s pissed at me, but he wants to see you, Reg. There’s a
lot of shit that—”

“Was anyone ever going to ask what I wanted?” His voice is so small and tired. He wants it
to be bigger, to take up more space, but he doesn’t have the energy. “Did anyone stop and
think about me for even a second? My whole life revolved around my brother for so long. It’s
always been about Sirius, and how I don’t measure up to him. I was never as smart, or as
handsome, or as funny. But do you know what I am? Easy to control. To manipulate.”

“I don’t think—”

“Wait your fucking turn.”

James’ mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

“You looked me in the eyes tonight and dropped the biggest bomb you could’ve possibly
dropped right into my lap. And yet, for some asinine reason, you couldn’t stop and think
about how seeing my brother might affect me. The brother I told you I never want to see
again!”

Regulus points an accusatory finger at James. His rage returns, caught by its second wind,
and he shifts to get his legs under him. “I don’t know a lot about love, but I know enough to
know that that’s not what you do if you love someone. If you love someone, you put them
first. You care about them first. You don’t make decisions for them that they never wanted
you to make!”

Twin trails slip down James’ cheeks. He doesn’t make a sound, but his swallows don’t seem
to come easy. He chokes on each one and watches Regulus with wide, glassy eyes.

“The plan was to ambush me, wasn’t it?” Regulus asks, begging the gods again to make him
wrong about this even though his gut tells him otherwise. “You knew. That’s why…” He
inhales sharply as more pieces click together. “That’s why you said not yet. You looked me in
the eyes and said you love me, but you couldn’t stand to hear me say it back because you
knew this would blow up in your face soon enough.”

James nods slowly, and the rest of Regulus’ heart shatters. “I didn’t want you to regret it once
you knew the truth, but I wanted you to know that no matter what, I love you. I wanted you
to know that how I feel about you is real. Because we… The plan was to talk to you after
Paris. Once we were back in London, we thought… Well, Sirius thought you’d run. He was
scared that if I tried to talk to you about it or if I told you anything that you might disappear.”

“Wow. And here I thought I’d changed over the last ten years,” Regulus says drily. “But it
seems Sirius still knows me better than anyone.”

“I know it’s not—” James exhales a long, drawn out breath. “I know it’s not ideal. But he
wants to talk to you about everything. And if you hear him out, then maybe—”

Regulus throws his arms up in exasperation. “Oh, my God, you’re still doing it! Have you
learned nothing in the last thirty minutes? I don’t care that you’ve known him for ten years. I
don’t care that he’s your best friend. You came in and fucked up my life, James! You lied to
me. Continuously! I didn’t ask for this. I was fine without you. I was fine without Sirius!”

“But you—”

“Fuck this. I’m leaving. I’ve heard enough.” Regulus pushes to his feet, fighting to keep
steady. “I don’t need this. I spent four years waiting for him. Four fucking years, James. Do
you have any idea what that house was like after Sirius left? I’m not proud of it, but I was
thankful to have him as a buffer. They paid less attention to me because he was so goddamn
loud. But there was no one to protect me after he walked out, so I had to do it myself.”

James’ mouth draws itself into a thin line. “He tried, Regulus. He tried to reach you.”

“He didn’t try hard enough.”

Regulus doesn’t give James a chance to respond. His ears are ringing, and he can’t stand to
look at the broken man in front of him anymore. He keeps waiting for the relief of waking up
to find this has all been some terrible fucking nightmare. Any second now, he’ll open his eyes
in a panic, body shaking with a cold sweat, and James will loop an arm around his waist to
pull him close.

S’Okay, love. They’re just dreams. They can’t hurt you.

He pinches the thin skin in the curve of his elbow, but he doesn’t wake up. Not this time. His
eyes burn and his vision blurs. He wipes furiously at his face with the backs of his hands. He
will not cry. Not until he’s back in London and in his own flat, where he can close all of the
curtains, crawl under his heavy duvet, and fall apart.

He doesn’t bother to turn on the light in the walk in closet. He hung up all of his clothes when
they arrived, but he rips them off their hangers one by one and tosses them haphazardly into
his open suitcase.
James lingers in the doorway, standing awkwardly with an arm across his chest, one hand
gripping his bicep. “Reg, don’t go,” he says, eyes wide and pleading. “I know you’re angry
with me, and you have every right to be—”

“Damn straight I fucking do.”

“—but it’s almost three in the morning. It’s not safe. Trains won’t run for hours, and I can’t
just—Please, don’t go. Hate me all you want, but don’t run into the streets of Paris in the
middle of the night. It isn’t safe.”

Regulus tugs James’ shirt over his head and throws it aside. He pulls on a jumper, grateful it’s
one of his oversized soft ones. He needs to be swallowed whole right now. “Why do you even
care? Just let me go.”

“Because I love you, and I—”

“No. You don’t get to say that. Not anymore.”

James opens and closes his mouth several times before nodding once. Got it. “I didn’t tell
you about Sirius, but none of the rest was a lie or fake or… How I feel about you is so
fucking real, Regulus. I know it’s all jumbled up right now, and I know I messed up real bad,
but please just wait until the morning. Paris isn’t safe right now, and I don’t want something
to happen to you.”

“Then get out.” Regulus slams his suitcase shut and yanks the zipper hard enough he nearly
snaps it off. He leaves a pair of jeans on top. “The bed is mine. You can sleep on the couch.
Or the floor. I don’t fucking care. But do not talk to me. Don’t even look at me. Just get the
hell out.”

The worst part is how much he doesn’t want to say what he’s saying. He knows the truth. He
knows why all of this hurts to such a crippling degree. Because he is so fucking in love with
James Potter that his whole self splits in half when he looks at the man in front of him and
sees nothing but pain and devastation there.

It’s this look that makes Regulus want to take it all back. To say, It’s fine, we’re fine, and I
need you to stay here with me. But then he remembers how, in order for him to fall in love
with James the way he has, he first had to trust him. Over the hoursdaysweeksmonths they’ve
spent together, Regulus allowed James to see a little more of him with every moment. He
thawed, took his walls down brick by brick, and let James come closer and closer still.

It was never supposed to happen. Regulus called it from the start. He knew this wasn’t going
to end well. He just never anticipated this. He expected James would try to use him like all of
the rest, or that he would be the one to chew James up and spit him out when he grew tired.
Another Benjy. Another Connor. It’s what Regulus is best at, after all.

But he never anticipated Sirius. Not once did he even think to entertain the possibility. For all
of his distrustfulness, it never once crossed his mind that someone might do this to him.
Especially not James, who looks at him like he hangs every star in the sky at night and sets
the sun on fire during the day. It’s why Regulus let his guard down. It’s why he softened all of
his sharp edges and let James slip past his best defenses.

He thought James was better than the rest, but this is what he deserves for letting someone
get so close to him. Now he’s in danger of coming apart at the seams, of unraveling slowly
but surely, and it’s a feeling he knows all too well.

It’s the same one he felt when he realized Sirius wasn’t coming back for him, and he would
be alone in that house of horrors for four more years. It’s the same one he felt when he turned
eighteen and finally ran away, only to realize the world was his oyster but he didn’t want it.
Not in the way he had it, all alone and scared.

And this is exactly the feeling that led him to bend over a stranger’s scuffed up coffee table,
one finger pushing a nostril closed while he held the end of a rolled up bank note in the other
to snort a line for the first time. Then a second, and a third, until all he felt was euphoria
instead of carved out and hollow.

This is all too familiar, and he feels like a goddamn fool for winding up here—again.

Regulus shoulders past James, shoving him out of the way. “Go. Get out. And don’t forget to
answer Sirius.” He snatches James’ phone off the bed and throws it at him. “God for-fucking-
bid you don’t give him the attention he needs. I would’ve thought Remus was enough for
him. He was ten years ago.”

James stands between the door and the bed, his shoulders hunched. His bottom lip is red and
swollen from chewing on it for so long. “Reg, it isn’t like that. He’s worried about you. I told
him Rodolphus and Bellatrix showed up tonight, and he’s—”

“I don’t care what Sirius wants or thinks or feels. Get it through your head, James. I don’t
care about my brother. If I did, I’d be thanking you for all of your hard work and dedication
to the cause. You did a fantastic fucking job. You can be proud of yourself now. But all I want
is for you to get out. I’ll be gone before the sun is up.”

Panic twists James’ expression. He lifts a hand as though he means to reach out, but he drops
it when Regulus takes a full step away. James’ voice is well past broken when he says,
“Don’t do this, Regulus. Please. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I was never yours to lose.”

It’s the greatest lie Regulus has ever told, but he squares his shoulders anyway. He won’t
back down. Not when every second he’s spent with James feels tainted. He braces himself for
the rest of what he needs to say. It has to hurt. If he can make it hurt, if he can make James
feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling, then maybe it’ll ease the ache and he’ll feel a little
less alone.

“You’ll get over it,” he says coolly, lifting his chin. “And you’ll get over me. Fuck someone
else if you need to. Hell, I don’t care if you fuck a thousand someones. God knows I will.”

James sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, full of hurt.

Regulus does not feel better. Not even a little bit. He feels more alone than he did five
seconds ago. But it’s too late. He can’t take the words back, and he won’t expose his
underbelly to apologize for what he’s said. Instead, he points at the door. “Go. Get out,
James.”

The bedroom is cavernous and deadly quiet without James in it. He closes the door behind
him with a soft click, and Regulus takes several steps back once he’s alone. His knees bump
the edge of the bed, and he lets gravity take hold, bouncing on the expensive mattress when
he falls.

Even though his eyes burn, he still doesn’t let himself cry. Instead, he lies there and stares up
at the ceiling until his vision blurs. Eventually, he musters the energy to get to his feet and
head for the bathroom. He finds his phone in the pocket of his suit trousers.

As expected, it’s dead.

With trudging footsteps, he shuffles back into the bedroom and collapses on his stomach in
the tangled mess of sheets. They still smell like sex and that heady mixture of him and James.
His gut twists, and he’s on his feet again in seconds. He takes his frustration out on the
bedding, stripping everything off of the mattress to leave it all in a pile at the foot of the bed.

By the time he’s finished, his phone lights up on the nightstand—3:16 a.m.

He lies on his side, facing away from the door, and tries not to think about James on the other
side of it. There are still a little over two hours before the Metro’s first trains run. Considering
Regulus won’t be able to sleep a wink between now and then, it’s an endless amount of time.
So he busies himself with finding the earliest flight back to London, but once he’s purchased
his plane ticket and no longer has something to occupy his thoughts, they inevitably drift to
James.

Is he sleeping?

Or is he as awake and restless as Regulus?

The weakest part of him wants to get to his feet, walk to the door, and keep walking until he
can crawl in James’ arms. They’ll curl up together on the couch, and Regulus will apologize
for saying so many nasty things. James will apologize too, and maybe Regulus won’t be able
to forgive him right away, but they’ll figure it out. Regulus is so fucking in love with James
that he wants to forget the truth of what he learned tonight, even though he knows he can’t.

Even if you could forget, James still lied to you for months.

Regulus makes a soft, broken noise.

Can you forgive that?

He curls into a ball in the middle of the bed and wraps his arms around his legs, pulling his
knees close to his chest so he can bury his face between them. He would give anything to
turn back time. His memories are plagued with James’ laugh, James’ touch, James’ smile…
There’s so much of James in his head that Regulus isn’t sure he could escape the memories if
he tried.

It’s weak and masochistic, but he finds himself opening his message thread with James and
scrolling slowly. It hurts something fierce to read the flirtatious banter, the sweet good
mornings. A better time. A happier time. But he keeps going until he hits the top and finds
James’ very first message to him.

Hi, it’s James. Is this Regulus?

But James knew then. He knew the whole fucking time.

Regulus’ stomach twists, and he curls himself into a tighter ball. Curious to a fault, he opens
Instagram with a trembling thumb. James follows him now, but this isn’t what Regulus is
looking for. He stalked James’ Instagram in the beginning, but with over three hundred
thousand followers, Regulus never once thought to look through them. And why would he?
What reason did James ever give him to look for this?

He clicks on the followers number. His heart beats a wild rhythm against his ribs, but he
types two words into the search bar: Sirius Black.

No users found.

Regulus blows out a puff of air, momentarily relieved until he remembers James’ words: He
dropped the Black name a long time ago. Regulus’ stomach twists itself into anxious knots
once more, but he deletes the last word and types a new one: Sirius Lupin.

From over three hundred thousand to one: padloops.

Shit.

Before he can think better of it, Regulus clicks on his brother’s profile.

Sirius Lupin he/she/they

28. Londoner. Queer.
Come find me at @thechocolatefrog with @rjlupin!

The confirmation that his brother is a real person—that he’s alive, and well, and out there—
hits Regulus like a punch to the gut. He mourned Sirius so long ago that in some weird,
twisted way, he’d convinced himself that his brother was dead. That Sirius wasn’t a living,
breathing person anymore. The memories could hurt Regulus, but not a flesh and blood
human being.

But here Sirius is, very real and not a ghost after all.
His account is private. All 291 pictures are hidden from view unless Regulus requests to
follow him, which he will not do. Instead, he takes in the rest of his brother’s profile in
stages, starting with the pronouns.

It doesn’t necessarily surprise him to see that he and Sirius share this. The conversations he
had with Sirius when they were younger are a small part of the reason he’s warred with his
own gender and its expression now that he’s built up the courage to explore it. He never said
anything then—he didn’t know or understand—but he’s thought about those conversations a
thousand times since.

Gender feels like a performance sometimes, Sirius had said, blowing smoke rings into the
midnight air. He was seventeen, almost eighteen, and their days together were numbered. Not
that Regulus knew it at the time.

What do you mean?

Sirius had merely shrugged. I dunno. It’s like… Why does everyone care? Boys like
dinosaurs, girls wear dresses, and no one gives a fuck. But if a boy wears dresses and a girl
likes dinosaurs, people act like you’ve just threatened to kill their family.

Why are you always so dramatic about everything?

I’m not! Look, maybe I just want to be Sirius. He, she, they, it. Who fucking cares? We’re
always performing for people who don’t matter. So if I have to perform for the rest of my life,
then I’d rather perform for myself.

It’s a conversation Regulus has relived again, and again, and again. He didn’t tell James
about it; it felt too personal. Like offering up a piece of his brother’s soul that didn’t belong
to someone who didn’t know him.

But it’s no wonder James took the conversation so well—it wasn’t his first time.

Regulus tries not to let bitterness coil around his heart. He knows that was real. Whatever
James might’ve lied about or hid from him, Regulus knows without a doubt that James’
support was the realest of it all. He meant it when he said Regulus could be anything, try
anything, do anything. His reaction to Regulus wearing a skirt, the ease with which James
switched from he to they without batting an eye—it was too raw to be a lie.

For some reason, this digs the knife in a little deeper.

Because Regulus knows, even though he doesn’t want to admit it. He knows they were real—
him, and James, and this thing they were nurturing. The I love you wasn’t part of an elaborate
lie or fucked up plan; it was James at his rawest, turned inside out. All of that was the truth,
and Regulus knows it.

The problem is it was all built on and around a lie.

Blinking back fresh tears, Regulus clicks on Remus’ profile to distract himself. He needs to
follow the trail, to see what he can glean from these small pieces he never thought to search
for.

Remus J. Lupin he/him

29. Londoner.
Busy running @thechocolatefrog with @padloops.
Come give us a visit!

Remus’ profile is private too, but the bookshop’s account isn’t. Regulus scrolls through 306
pictures, but not a single one features his brother. None of them seem to feature Remus,
either. An employee runs the account, and any glimpse of Remus is from behind or of him
blurry in the background.

A quick search reveals that the Chocolate Frog—opened the same year Regulus turned
eighteen—is located on the complete opposite side of London. It’s an area Regulus never
visits. If he wants a bookshop, he stops by the Waterstones near campus. Was his brother
really this close the entire time?

Every so often, he stumbles upon a comment left by Sirius on one of the Chocolate Frog’s
posts. It’s like receiving puzzle pieces when you have no reference for what picture they’re
meant to come together and create. His brother uses exclamation points. He calls Remus
“Moony” and “Moons,” and he always adds a heart. Sometimes his replies are sarcastic with
a bit of sass, and other times they’re full of love and support.

Sirius is the one person Regulus is supposed to know better than anyone else, but his brother
is a complete stranger.

When the clock shifts from 4:59 to 5:00, Regulus drags himself out of bed. His limbs are
heavy with an exhaustion he feels right down to the marrow in his bones. He packs up his
charger, slips into his jeans, and tugs on a pair of socks. All of his movements are mechanical
and slow. He doesn’t bother to fold and pack the suit from dinner. James bought it for him; he
doesn’t want it.

He’s not sure what to expect when he finally steps out into the main room of their suite, but it
isn’t James sitting at the end of the couch with his cheek resting on his fist and one knee
pulled up to his chest. His gaze is faraway, but he looks up when Regulus appears. His
expression shifts into carefully arranged, blank neutrality, but Regulus sees the truth in his
eyes.

Pain. Sadness. Fear.

Regret.

Regulus slips on his Docs but doesn’t bother to do up the laces. “Don’t call,” he says. His
voice is hoarse from disuse. “Don’t text me. Delete my number and forget I ever existed.”
“Reg—”

“Stop, James. Please. I don’t think you fully understand how hard it was for me to trust you.”
Regulus pulls the sleeve of his jumper over his hand and uses it to wipe at the corners of his
eyes. He looks down at the floor; if he meets James’ gaze, his resolve will crumble. “You lied
from the start. It doesn’t matter that the rest of it was real. You’ve been hiding something
monumental from me this entire time, and you did it so easily.”

James gets to his feet, but he doesn’t move towards Regulus. “I know. And it’s okay if you
hate me for it. I would. But there’s so much more to this than I can tell you. It isn’t my story,
but I wish you’d listen to it. Forget me if you want to, but I know you miss your brother. I can
see it when you talk about him. And Sirius—”

“Do you know you haven’t even apologized?” Regulus interrupts softly, his gaze still trained
on the floor.

“What?”

“You haven’t said you’re sorry. Not once.” His voice is hollow. The realization settles like a
brick in his stomach. “Because you’re not, are you? You regret it, but you’re not sorry that
you did it.”

The silence is deafening.

It’s answer enough until James replies, “It brought me to you, Regulus. I regret how I did it,
but I’m not sorry for it. If I could go back and do it differently, I would. If I knew then what I
know now, I would’ve told you everything the second I saw you. But you’re the best thing
that’s ever happened to me, and we were so fucking happy. You were happy. How can I be
sorry for that? How can I regret us? What I did brought me to you.”

Regulus lifts his chin to meet James’ gaze. “I wish that it hadn’t. Goodbye, James.”

The short distance to the lift stretches on for miles, but Regulus makes it there eventually. He
doesn’t look back to see what damage his words have caused. It’s better that he doesn’t know.
He already regrets them. Who is he kidding? He was happy. Happier than he’s ever been.
And James was the best thing to happen to him in a long, long time. But he was also the
worst, and Regulus isn’t in the right place to reconcile the two.

When the lift comes and the door dings open, he steps inside but keeps his gaze trained on
the floor. It isn’t until he presses the button for the lobby that he finally looks up.

James stands in the entryway with fresh, wet trails on his cheeks. He takes a single step
forward, but he stops when Regulus shakes his head once. James crosses his arms, curling in
on himself just as Regulus had, and holds Regulus’ gaze until the lift doors close.

Regulus swallows the sob trying to work its way past his lips. He won’t cry. Not now. Not
yet. He has to hold it together for a little while longer. He’ll take the Metro, then a short flight
to London. After that, he’ll make a quick stop at James’ flat for his Porsche, for his clothes,
 and to leave his key. That’s all he has left to do, and once that’s done, he can return to his flat
and break into a thousand tiny, insignificant pieces.

Just a little while longer, and then he can forget. He’s done it before. He knows how to do it
so thoroughly his mind will break apart exactly like his heart has. Anything is better than
feeling this numb and lifeless.

The lift dings, the doors open, and Regulus drags his suitcase behind him. He walks through
the deserted lobby with his chin held high and his shoulders back. This is resignation.
Acceptance. Because he’ll be fine exactly as he’s always been fine before. This is just another
situation he can’t change but merely has to survive.

He’ll be fine.

Paris is chilly in the predawn light, but he’s not thinking about it. His mind is on how he can
get to where he wants to be, which is far from here and under hot, too bright lights with
heavy bass beating in time with his pulse. If he plays his cards right then by the end of the
night, he’ll forget every awful thing about himself and his weird, fucked up life. He’ll forget
about his brother and his mess of a family. If he’s lucky, he’ll forget his own name.

And maybe, just maybe, even if he’ll never forgive James, then at least Regulus can forget
him along with all of the rest.

Chapter End Notes

do i have an exam tomorrow at 9am? yes. are we going to talk about it? absolutely not.
this chapter wasn’t supposed to arrive so soon, but like i said in the note up top, i hadn’t
realized how much of Ch 15 i’d pre-written until i went to write/edit. so hey, surprise!

i would just like to go on record and say that i hate splitting Jegulus up. i love them too
much and this was painful and I AM BROKENNNNN i don’t like James crying and i
don’t like Reg holding it all back even though all he wants is to break and :( he’s just so
hurt and shocked and feeling everything but not letting himself feel ANYTHING and
he’s saying things he regrets but he just wants to hurt someone the way HE hurts.

and then seeing his brother’s instagram like that? and Remus’? and the bookshop’s? he’s
spent such a long time convincing himself Sirius doesn’t really exist but ,, there he is.
alive. living. and genderfluid! genderfluid Black brothers are incredibly special to me
obviously. i cannot say more for now but YEAH

if you still have questions about James & Sirius then don't worry, you're supposed to.
James, my beloved but messy man, is still dodging key pieces of the story because he
doesn’t want to speak for Sirius. he’ll speak on his own fuck ups and what he did wrong,
but he intentionally doesn’t give answers to questions Regulus doesn’t explicitly ask.
honestly, i just want to put them both in a jar and shake them up because they’re so in
love but it’s such a mess of feelings they need to work through :( emotions are running
high and bad decisions are about to be made.

which is arguably the most curated playlist of them all ✨

which means it’s time to put TTPD away and dust off reg’s pre-game clubbing playlist,
i’ve NEVER made so many
playlists for one fic before (i usually just do one main playlist and call it), but this fic has
commanded so much of my attention and brain rot that there are 6 total playlists by the
end. c’est la vie or whatever.

you guys definitely won’t get Ch 16 until after May 12th because while i’ve pre-written
quite a bit of that one as well, the scenes are heavier and i won’t have the energy to

which is incredibly exhausting and stressful in a different way 🫠

tackle them this week. studying for 4 exams is less intense than actually taking 4 exams,
balancing studies +
writing is something i do regularly. taking exams + writing? that is not lol

thank you for all of the love on Ch 14 <3 i read everyone’s comments and appreciate
every single one so so much. and i appreciate you all and your support, and am sending

😔
lots of love (and good luck for exams if you’re taking them)! have a good week and i'm
terribly sorry it started off this way

ON A MUCH LIGHTER NOTE — moonyandtoasts did cmu james art to go with their

😭
cmu reg art aND ALSO DID REG AT THE END which i'm so normal about really i'm
like ,,, totally , normal and , , fine about it
 i find myself in a shit position
Chapter Notes

emerges from exam hell broken, battered, and bruised: LET'S GOOOOOO 🗣️
See the end of the chapter for more notes

London greets Regulus with weather matching his mood. It’s overcast during the plane’s
descent, and the moment its wheels hit the tarmac, dark clouds burst and rain batters the tiny
windows, blurring the outside world. Regulus presses his forehead against the cool glass,
eyes shut tight while the flight attendants begin their deplaning instructions.

He’s not listening. His mind is elsewhere.

Truthfully, it’s still in Paris—in a hotel suite with beautiful marble floors, pristine cream-
colored couches, and a bed large enough to comfortably fit four.

It’s on this bed that he lies with his feet by the pillows and his head at the end. He stretches
languidly, naked underneath his soft, white bathrobe. He can feel the heat of a familiar,
hungry gaze as it trails over the snake on his thigh. There’s a flute filled with champagne in
his hand, and he giggles when James gives up on pretending he isn’t actively devouring every
piece of Regulus with his eyes.

Don’t you dare, Regulus warns, giggling again when James tugs the sash of his robe loose
with a mischievous grin. He tries to be stern, but his giggles turn to full laughs as James
peppers wet kisses all over his bare stomach, his sternum, the column of his throat.

James, he tries again, but it’s answered by a deep, rumbling hum and teeth that tug on the
jewelry pierced through his navel. What are you doing? Oh, no, no, no. James, no! I’ll have
to shower again. You’re gonna make me all sticky!

Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll clean you up. A wicked smile with crinkled eyes and the rare
glimpse of a dimpled cheek. Champagne just tastes so much better like this.

Regulus bows off the bed at the first dribble of cold, sticky sweet liquid poured in thin
rivulets down his stomach. He fists his fingers in the sunlit strands of James’ hair, moaning
when a warm, wet tongue follows the trails up, up, up until James can take one of Regulus’
nipples gently between his teeth.

He pours until his glass empties and Regulus squirms underneath him. He’s untouched and
aching, seconds from begging, when James finally crawls up his body to kiss him. He won’t
admit it out loud, but champagne really does taste better secondhand. He sucks on James’
tongue, canting his hips up for friction.
But rather than give him relief, James merely takes Regulus’ glass from his limp fingers. It’s
still full of sweet, bubbling liquid, and with that wicked grin stretched wide, James says, Turn
over, love, and put your hips up a bit. Spread your legs for me? Yeah, that’s it. Perfect. Just
fucking perfect. God, look at you.

Regulus keens, fingers fisting in the duvet as cool liquid trails down his spine. It’s followed
by a warm tongue and a litany of praise so lovely he—

“Sir? Hello? Are you alright?”

A gentle hand settles on his bicep, and Regulus jolts awake. He hadn’t even realized he fell
asleep.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but we’ve landed and everyone else has deplaned.” A female flight
attendant looks down at him with concerned, warm brown eyes and a slight furrow in her
brow. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to scare you. But we really do need you to…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m sorry.” Regulus gives her a tight-lipped smile and unbuckles his lap
belt. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Long night?” she asks, stepping back into the aisle.

Regulus grimaces. “That obvious?”

“I’ve seen plenty of rough nights coming from Paris.” She winks conspiratorially with a
bright, friendly smile. “And I’ve had my fair share of them, too.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t that sort of night. Or that his bloodshot eyes
aren’t from too much alcohol and a cocktail of brightly colored pills. The gray pallor of his
skin isn’t because he’s coming down from an incredible, wild night that he never wants to
forget.

But the lie is so much prettier than the truth, so he says, “Yeah, I might’ve went a little crazy.
But that’s what making memories is all about, right?”

She laughs. Believes him. Replies, “Well, I hope you get some good rest now that you’re
home. Have a wonderful day, and I hope it was a fantastic trip!”

He resists the urge to snap at her, to tell her to mind her own damn business. His emotions are
a pendulum swinging wildly from side to side; the momentum is impossible to stop. But it’s
not the flight attendant’s fault he just had one of the worst nights of his life. Nor is it her fault
that he can still picture James’ crestfallen expression with perfect clarity.

The memory is driving him up the fucking wall. Then again, all of them are. He would give
anything to reach inside his skull, scoop out his prefrontal cortex, disentangle all of the
James-shaped pieces from his thoughts, and dump them unceremoniously on the tarmac.
After that, he’ll find the brother-shaped bits and leave those behind, too.

If he could, he would scrub his mind clean and wash his hands of them both.
Regulus isn’t sure if he’s already numb to what happened in Paris, or if the shock simply
hasn’t worn off. He hasn’t let himself cry. He swallows his tears instead, flinching when they
cut up his insides all the way down.

No, he won’t cry. The whole wretched night will become a reality if he does. Tears make
everything final. They mean he and James were real, and they were happy, but that’s gone
now. Because tears also mean he and James are over, and this ache in his chest isn’t going to
go away on its own.

On the train, he finds a secluded seat and arranges his suitcase so no one will sit beside him.
He pulls his knees to his chest and leans his shoulder against the train wall. Even though he
puts his earphones in, he doesn’t play any music. Silence is better. And a masochist part of
him hopes he’ll fall asleep again. James is still his in his dreams.

But Regulus doesn’t sleep at all. Nearly an hour passes before he trudges through the lobby
of James’ flat building in Knightsbridge. The doorman gives him a cheery smile and a small
wave, which Regulus forces himself to return. He doesn’t breathe until he’s alone in the lift
and he can melt against the far wall.

It’s discomforting how his life has just imploded but the world keeps spinning anyway.
Would it give him a break if he asked? A second to catch his breath? No, probably not. He’s
never been that type of lucky. And he might be a fool, but he isn’t naïve.

The lift dings, the doors open, and Regulus finds himself alone in the hallway leading to
James’ front door. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to turn around and run far, far away
from whatever waits for him inside James’ flat. But he needs his keys and his things, so he
lets himself in for the last time.

Without James’ laugh and indomitable presence to fill every corner of the massive space, the
flat feels like somewhere Regulus doesn’t belong. He stands in the entryway, keys dangling
from his fingers and heart lodged in his throat, and looks into the living room brightened by
the midafternoon sun.

Is that you, Princess? He hears it like a distant echo, and the memory eats him alive. James’
voice comes from the office down the hall, where he always works until Regulus’ shift at the
club ends.

Regulus drops his keys in the bowl on the credenza. Who else would it be?

Oh, right, James quips, that infallible laugh in his voice coming closer as he does. I forgot to
tell you that me and Poppy from the ninth floor are having an affair. It’s been a bit of a
whirlwind romance. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, love.

Isn’t she, like, eighty? And widowed several times over?

James comes around the corner and leans against the wall with a devilish smirk. Maybe I
have a type.

Old and decrepit?

You sound like you might be jealous.

I’m not jealous of a pile of bones.

Yeah, you’re definitely jealous, James singsongs, walking backwards down the hall while
Regulus stomps after him with a scowl.

I am not! I’m just grossed out. Tell me, when you go down on her, does she taste stale? Or
just dusty?

James throws his head back, and his bright laugh fills every corner of the bedroom before it
settles in Regulus’ bones. Don’t worry, love, James says when his laughter fades and Regulus
is in his arms. No one tastes as good as you. Not even eighty-year-old millionaires.

Then get on your knees and prove it to me.

Regulus makes a soft, wounded noise when the memory fades and he’s alone again. It was a
mistake to come here. Fuck his car and his things; he should’ve sent Barty to collect them.
It’s brutal the way he sees James everywhere he looks, memories playing on a loop in his
head as he shuffles down the hall.

One look at the sofa and he remembers countless nights he fell asleep there, cheek smushed
into the pages of a textbook. James would carry him to bed, murmuring sweet nothings in his
curls, and tuck him in with soft kisses all over his face.

Regulus would reach for him—stay with me; come to bed—but James only ever brushed a
curl from his forehead and told him to go back to sleep. Then James would disappear to work
on a project and wouldn’t return until he was finished, always sometime after two in the
morning. No matter what stage of sleep he was in, Regulus felt the dip of the mattress, the
new warmth beside him, and wrapped himself around it with a satisfied sigh.

A glance in James’ office and he’s reliving the morning he wore a soft pink set and black silk
cover. He skipped classes that day. He was more interested in draping himself over the back
of James’ chair and, in a voice dipped in sugary syrup, he whispered, Mr. Potter, I’m so sorry
I missed the deadline… Isn’t there some way I can make it up to you? I know I messed up
real, real bad, but please, sir. I’ll do anything.

It was the first time Regulus ever called him sir, and James’ pupils blew out in a heartbeat.
This was how Regulus found himself spread on top of the giant mahogany desk with papers
crumpled under his stomach. A hand splayed between his shoulder blades to hold him down
while James ate him out, only exchanging his wicked tongue with more wicked fingers when
he took a work call. Regulus drew blood on his forearm from how hard he bit down to keep
himself quiet.

“Fuck,” he whispers now, staring into James’ quiet office until his vision blurs.

He hates how vividly he can remember the way James held him after. It was achingly tender.
He’d made himself small in James’ lap, shivering and spent and so fucking happy. He’d
fallen asleep with his arms loosely looped around James’ neck. After James had finished
working, they spent the rest of Regulus’ skip day curled up on the couch. Regulus faded in
and out of sleep on James’ chest, and James brushed fingers through his curls while absently
watching a movie.

It was easy. Comfortable. He knew he was in love with James then.

Regulus hurries to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his jumper. He won’t cry. Not here. “Just
get your shit and get out,” he mutters to himself, shuffling down the hall to James’ bedroom.
“And quit feeling sorry for yourself.”

There’s a terrifying possibility that James caught the soonest flight out of Paris after Regulus
left. He might show up any minute. Or maybe he called Sirius and spilled the details of their
fight, and Regulus’ brother is already on his way here.

The thought sets Regulus’ teeth on edge. Does Sirius have a key? He probably does. Ten
years is a long time to know someone and not give them a key. But would he at least be
courteous and knock? Or would he barge into James’ flat—and Regulus’ life—like it belongs
to him?

Regulus would rather not stay here long enough to find out.

He rips his clothes out of the drawer he’s claimed over the last month or so, but he barely
registers what he’s doing. The numbness has started to wear off. A myriad of emotions
grapple for first place as he replays the last twelve hours in conjunction with weeks and
months of memories.

Sadness. Regret. Anger. Devastation. Fury. Pain. Disappointment.

He can only feel one at a time and yet somehow, he feels all of them at once. Was he wrong
to run? Should he have stayed to hear more of the story? Or was he not cruel enough when it
mattered? Should he have torn James to shreds? Would there have been satisfaction in
watching James crumble to pieces at his feet?

Not to mention the details Regulus didn’t think to question in the heat of his anger. When did
James and Sirius meet and how? Was it James and Remus first, who sat together by chance in
the same lecture hall, or was it James and Sirius, kindred spirits who hit it off the second they
were in the same room?

Then he inevitably thinks of Peter, of Mary, of Emmeline, Alice, and Frank. Did they know
who Regulus was but said nothing at James’ order to keep quiet? Did they pity him, or did
they laugh at his ignorance?

Regulus’ blood boils anew, and like a match to kindling, his anger rushes through him. It fills
all of the aching, hollow places in his chest. Ten years. Ten fucking years—that’s how long
James has known his brother. And from their very first hello, James has been lying to him.

The truth of it forces Regulus to restructure every interaction in his head. He can’t help but
wonder—did James ever compare them? Did he look at Regulus and see a lesser version of
Sirius the way everyone else did when they were growing up? Pale gray eyes that never
shifted to ocean blue. Sharp, angular lines that refuse to ever fully soften. Not to mention his
tongue, sharp as a whip and just as cruel.

It’s difficult to believe James perceived all of this and still wanted to keep him. Regulus has
been tossed aside too many times to be that naïve, especially now that he knows the truth.

It would’ve been you and only you every single fucking time.

But it wasn’t, was it? If it had only been Regulus then none of this would’ve happened. He
wouldn’t be packing in more clothes than his suitcase can hold. He wouldn’t be choking on
the sobs he refuses to let out, at least not until he’s alone and far away from what can hurt
him.

Being in James’ flat is no better than rubbing salt in a stab wound. Everything smells like
James here. The entire fucking place reeks of his shampoo and his cologne and him. Regulus
is almost nauseous from it, so it’s a relief when he finally zips his suitcase shut.

His drawer is empty.

When he steps into the bedroom, he tries to avoid looking anywhere for long. The bed is
freshly made, the duvet pristine and unwrinkled. There are more memories tucked in those
sheets than he wants to revisit. But he only manages a single step towards the door before his
eyes snag on James’ nightstand. Regulus’ book sits by the lamp, a random receipt tucked
between the pages.

Will you read it to me, love?

Regulus, who leans against the headboard, arches a brow. What? Like a bedtime story?

Precisely. James rolls onto his stomach and stuffs a pillow under his chest, looking up at
Regulus with wide, puppy dog eyes. Pretty please, Princess? I’ll be so good and quiet.

Are you sure you’re twenty-eight?

The retort makes James chuckle. He ducks under the duvet to adjust them both until he’s
managed to insert himself comfortably between Regulus’ thighs. Then he rests his cheek on
Regulus’ stomach, sighing in that contented way he does when their bodies intertwine.

I like your voice, he murmurs, nuzzling into Regulus’ hip. It’s my favorite. I could listen to
you for hours. Indulge me?

Fine. But don’t interrupt with questions. It’s basically a history novel about the Targaryens.
It’s interesting, but I’m already over two hundred pages in.

Does it follow the show?

Almost to the letter.

Then I’m good. Read, baby. I’ll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m here.
“Read it yourself,” Regulus mutters bitterly. He snatches the book and tosses it in the middle
of James’ bed. It’s his—he bought it months ago and let it collect dust on his shelves—but he
doesn’t want it anymore. So much of what he and James enjoyed together feels ruined
anyway.

The living room and kitchen are cavernous. It cuts Regulus right down to the bone to realize
he won’t see any of it again. He won’t sit cross-legged on the kitchen island while James
makes dinner. He won’t fall asleep on the couch with his head in James’ lap. He won’t piece
together the Lego set on James’ coffee table when he can’t sleep.

His heart plummets right through the floor.

There are memories here, too. So many late night conversations had while building a small
village piece by piece. It was here that Regulus, anxious about the outcome of his words but
willing to try anyway, said, I should probably go back to my place soon… I have to finish the
Titanic set eventually.

To which James merely replied, Bring it here. You can build it after we finish this one.

It’ll be a pain to transport, though. And then I’ll have to haul it back when it’s done, and—

Then don’t.

Don’t what?

Don’t bring it back. Leave it here. You can stay here too, if you want. No one is telling you
that you have to go back to your flat. You can have more than a drawer here. James had
fiddled with a tiny piece longer than necessary. His brows were furrowed, deep lines etched
into his forehead. Stay with me.

Regulus was quiet for a long time before he finally whispered, I’ll think about it.

It was a four a.m. conversation; they weren’t in their right minds, and yet they were both
somehow more honest than they ever were at any other hour.

Regulus’ mood sours again. He and James didn’t revisit the conversation after that night.
Regulus was too scared to ask, and James didn’t bring it up. Maybe he had hoped Regulus
forgot about the four a.m. slip. That moment of unbridled honesty when James admitted to
wanting more than he could truly have.

How many nights did James sit here and lie to him? Regulus shared so many things about
Sirius when the moon was high and he felt safe enough to be vulnerable. Did James already
know everything that Regulus told him? Did he listen and still hope that Regulus would stay
despite it all? That all of those hours spent shoulder to shoulder would outweigh ten years of
hurt and anger?

Regulus wants to destroy the little Lego village. He wants to hurl it against the wall and
watch its pieces scatter all over the floor. Maybe, if he aims each part just right, he can hit
every empty spot on the wall where James still hasn’t—
Are some missing?

Regulus sets the Legos down slowly. He hadn’t even realized he was holding them; his body
isn’t his anymore. He’s on autopilot. It’s the only way he’ll make it home in one piece. But
he’s back in a memory, an old one he forgot all about.

Mm? Oh, no. Just haven’t filled those bits in yet.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Regulus says through gritted teeth. He bolts down
the hall before his brain can convince him this is a bad idea. He should get out of here.
Nothing good will come from finding those pictures.

He knows this—and still, he looks.

Regulus starts in James’ closet. He opens every drawer, rifling through clothes without a care
for the destruction he leaves in his wake. He dumps shirts and boxers and folded up jeans on
the floor. He shoves his hand to the back of every drawer to search even their farthest corners.
He goes through the entire closet like a man possessed before he moves to James’ bedroom,
where he pulls books off of shelves to check behind them.

It isn’t until he reaches storage bins tucked neatly on a bottom shelf that he slows. He sifts
through random memorabilia—medals from primary school sports competitions, a photo
album full of baby pictures, a handful of children’s books in Spanish.

This is more of James than Regulus has ever seen. He’s never looked through James’
personal things. Even when he was curious, he ignored the nagging twist in his gut. James
shared so little about his university years; he artfully dodged questions, but Regulus would
remind himself each time, Whatever it is, James will tell you when he’s ready, just like he
doesn’t push you to tell him anything. You have to trust him if you want this to work.

It all seems glaringly obvious now that the missing pieces have been filled in.

Bile rises in Regulus’ throat. He shoves the storage bin back on its shelf. A part of him feels
vindicated, but is this really any better than what James did to him? He’s tearing James’ flat
apart to find pictures James doesn’t want him to see. He’s sifting through belongings James
didn’t give him permission to look through.

But then he remembers I regret how I did it, but I’m not sorry for it, and he hopes that, when
James comes home to see all of his things in disarray, he feels even half as violated as he’s
made Regulus feel.

It isn’t until Regulus drops to his knees to check under the bed that he finds them. They’re in
a small parcel box, and there are only six photos in black frames identical to those still
hanging in the living room. Regulus stares at each one in turn, vision blurring until he
hurriedly blinks the tears away.

The first picture is a punch to the gut. It knocks the wind out of him, and he has to wipe his
eyes with the sleeve of his jumper a few times before he can take in the photo’s details.
It’s of James and Sirius. Even though Sirius is a few years older than memory serves,
Regulus would know his big brother anywhere. He’s smiling with his arm thrown around
James’ middle. James’ arm loops around his shoulders, pulling him in close. They both wear
matching graduation gowns, and there’s unbridled joy etched into their expressions. A simple
gold band sits on his brother’s ring finger, sunlight glinting off of the smooth metal.

Regulus sets this frame on the floor to look at the next photo.

This one features James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus. Ten years have passed since Regulus last
saw Remus, but the scar cutting from brow to chin is unmistakable. He’s more handsome in
this photo than in Regulus’ memories. At some point, he grew into his broad shoulders and
long legs, and his smile is easy and confident.

The four friends lounge around a campfire, grinning at the camera while their marshmallows
melt off the ends of long sticks. It’s impossible to discern when this photo was taken, but
Sirius looks younger here than in the graduation picture.

The third photo is of James and his parents. He has some of his mother’s features, but he’s
the spitting image of his father. The picture was taken on a beach of white sand, and clear
ocean waters stretch towards the horizon. All three Potters smile from ear to ear. Monty’s
eyes crinkle at the corners like James’ always do, and Effie has a dimple in her cheek that
matches the one James only has when his mouth tilts just right at the corners.

Regulus drops the picture frame like it’s burned him. He doesn’t pick it up again.

In the fourth photo, Sirius and Remus wear matching black suits. They’re youngest here.
Sirius looks exactly how he does in Regulus’ last memories of him. But his hair is slightly
longer, tied in a low bun at the nape of his neck. On either side of him and Remus stand
James’ parents and a gaggle of their friends.

Regulus sets this picture aside before it can hurt him.

The fifth is an innocent one. It captures James on Monty’s shoulders, and he smiles with a
wide, gap-toothed grin. He’s no older than five. His tiny fists cling to his father’s hair,
practically ripping out the strands. For some inexplicable reason, this one hurts more than
Regulus expected it would. Perhaps because this is a picture James could’ve kept on the wall
but chose to take down anyway.

You’d put pictures of us in your flat?

If it’s okay with you, yeah.

It comes again, the bitter tang of a terrible truth. James didn’t only take down photos of Sirius
and Remus. He also took down pictures that could have remained on the wall but simply
weren’t relevant to his life anymore. Because despite everything, he still wanted to make
room for Regulus amidst the rest of the people who matter to him.

“God damn it,” Regulus whispers, tilting his head back after wiping his eyes. He will not, he
will not, he will not. His jumper sleeve is damp, but his cheeks are still dry. This, at least, is a
small mercy.

By the time he musters up the courage to look at the final photo, he’s numb again. And thank
God, because this one is of James and Sirius. Someone captured them in a blurry, wilder
moment—their elbows are locked, arms looped together with shot glasses tipped towards
their lips. They wear borderline maniacal grins. It’s impossible to date the photo, but Sirius’
hair is long and wild, falling passing his shoulders.

Seeing these photos is worse than looking at Sirius’ Instagram profile. They show his brother
in detail—alive, and well, and living a grand, fun life. He’s married. He has friends who care
about him. He’s happy. There isn’t a hint of sadness in his eyes, because he got out. He got
what he always wanted.

He was really drunk, and he kept going on about you. About his regrets.

Acid burns a hole through Regulus’ chest. He gathers the framed photos and cradles them in
his arms. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he brings the pictures into James’ walk
in closet and sets them on the floor in two neat rows of three in front of the full length mirror.

After he’s satisfied with the position of each picture, Regulus folds his forearms on his knees
and rocks back on his heels. He’s never been one for loud outbursts like Sirius and their
father. Instead, he’s always been like their mother. There’s a bigger statement to be made in
subtlety than there is in explosivity.

When James comes home, he’ll see the tornado that’s ripped through his flat. He’ll know
Regulus was here. And when he steps into his closet, he’ll know that whatever Regulus
searched high and low for—he found it. James will see the pictures in neat, perfect rows
waiting here for him.

And when he bends down to pick them up, he’ll have to stand amidst the chaos and look at
himself. Maybe, just maybe, this will make him feel even half the hurt Regulus does when he
looks down at his feet and then back up at his reflection. Ashen skin. Bloodshot, watery eyes.
Dark circles.

He knows it’s brutal to leave the pictures here. It’s as nasty as every fuck you he lobbed
James’ way back in Paris. He might even regret this when the dust settles. He never likes the
things he says and does in his hurt and anger. Despite this, he still pushes to his feet. Turns
away from the mirror and the neat rows of photos depicting a life he doesn’t recognize.

The walk out of James’ room and down the hall is unbearably long. It takes him ages to reach
where he left his suitcase. He doesn’t look back at the Lego set on James’ coffee table. He
doesn’t clean up the mess he made in James’ room. He doesn’t allow himself one last look at
the place he almost dared to call home.

Regulus simply grabs his suitcase, takes his keys from the bowl, and walks right out of
James’ life as though he was never there at all.
Regulus is very aware that he should not be doing this. It’s a dangerous, slippery slope he’s
standing on the edge of. He’s been here before. He knows what the fall looks like, and he’s
intimately acquainted with what waits for him at the bottom.

He should call Barty.

Evan.

Lily.

Pandora.

Dorcas.

Marlene.

He should—but he doesn’t.

If he does what he should do, then he’ll have to stare everything in the face. He’ll have to
admit that he’s missed his brother for ten long years, but he doesn’t know how to reconcile
the pain of losing him with the pain of being left behind with the pain of wishing Sirius was a
name on the list of people he’s supposed to call.

He’s not in the mood for admissions.

He’s in the mood to forget.

Tequila burns a fire down his throat. It’s half past six, and he’s poured himself three shots in
the last thirty minutes he’s sat cross-legged on his kitchen island. He came home a few hours
ago to find his flat in disarray; he hadn’t bothered to clean it that weekend he stayed here
while James was in Mexico.

So he went a bit manic and spent hours cleaning every surface from top to bottom. He even
scrubbed the walls. The fucking baseboards. The mania didn’t ebb until he ran out of things
to clean, and only then did he pull the bottle of tequila from his freezer, put his old favorite
playlist on the stereo system in his living room, and clamber onto the kitchen island.

It’s here—three shots deep and furious—that he stares at the Lego set on his dining table.

Or what’s left of it, anyway.

He destroyed the part of the ship he had finished. Truthfully, he doesn’t even remember doing
it. It was before the tequila but after the manic cleaning, and now it lies in pieces all over the
floor. Hours, and hours, and hours—gone. So many late night conversations were tucked
away in those pieces.

But now he’s gone and destroyed them, broken them all back up into teeny tiny bits, and oh,
he feels fucking vindicated. He meant to pick up the mess once he realized what he’d done,
but he ran out of energy. Now he’s stuck staring at it while he drinks, which is a problem
because the sight of it just makes him angrier—and this anger makes him pour another full
shot.

The bottom of a tequila bottle is not his end goal, however. Not tonight.

He looks down at his phone. The empty shot glass dangles from his fingers. But his other
hand is free, and it’s with this that he gets to work.

Left. Left. Left. Right. Left. Left. Left. Left.

Regulus swears under his breath about the abysmal prospects of London proper. He’s not
looking for anyone specific, so long as they aren’t tall, Latino, and disgustingly wealthy. This
isn’t supposed to mean anything, but it still has to be enough.

Left. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. Left. Left. Left.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, reaching for the open tequila bottle. He pours himself a quarter
shot and knocks it back.

Right. Right. Left. Left. Right.

You’ve got a match!

“Fucking finally.”

Not that the matching bit is ever the hard part. It’s the rest that annoys him—dull hi, my name
is conversations, endless small talk, then deciding if he wants to add a notch on his bedpost
for a man who couldn’t find a G-spot with a marked map, a flashlight, and detailed verbal
directions.

He’s at least aiming for someone who can leave him a sweaty, spent mess by the time the
night is through. Or someone who can get him as close to it as possible.

“No, no, no,” he mumbles in defeat, pouring another quarter shot as the exact thoughts he’s
trying to avoid come rushing back. Thoughts of a soft, pink leather collar tucked away in his
nightstand back at James’ flat.

Wear it when you want, Princess. Or don’t wear it at all. It’s up to you. They’re your rules to
set. I’m just happy I get to play the game.

It pisses him off something fierce that he will never let a man put a collar around his neck
again. Because he liked it. No, he loved it. Especially when James would take the leather
between his teeth when they fucked, or hook a finger through the metal loop to tug ever so
gently.

But the level of trust it required isn’t so easily given, and Regulus is unlikely to give it to
someone again. James would take him apart until he was so overstimulated and wrung out
that his thighs shook for ages. James understood his limits; how to test and push but still
respect them. It was sex that sent Regulus into orbit but made him deliriously happy when he
came back to Earth.

He won’t find that in a casual fuck and he knows it.

The first match proves unsuccessful. The conversation is trite, made up of all the same
questions he expects someone to ask him. What are you studying? What do you like to do for
fun? What’s your favorite food?

“Is this all you’ve got for me?” he asks drily, watching three bubbles in the chat window with
about as much interest as he’d give a wall of drying paint. When another predictable question
pops up, he doesn’t bother to respond. He unmatches with the guy, deletes the chat, and
moves on to the next.

Left. Right. Left. Left. Left. Left. Right. Left. Right.

You’ve got a match!

“Fucking wonderful.” He pours another quarter shot. He’s nearing the point where the smell
of tequila would usually trigger his gag reflex, but he’s spent enough nights tricking his body
into believing he doesn’t have one that the liquor slides down his throat with no resistance.

He supposes he can thank James for that.

For fuck’s sake. He’s not supposed to think about James. He told himself no more. It’s a knife
to the chest every time, which leads to more wallowing—and wallowing will not get him
laid.

Regulus’ phone dings with a notification from his match.

fabianp2
hey! i’m Fabian.
do you mind if i say something kinda forward?
because i think you’re incredibly hot

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Regulus deadpans, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He
looks through Fabian’s pictures, unimpressed but not necessarily disappointed.

Perhaps this one will do.

blackstar
I’m Regulus.
You can say whatever you want.
“Won’t make a fucking difference to me.”

He spins the shot glass in his fingers as three little bubbles pop up in the chat box. Another
notification comes while Fabian is still typing, but Regulus ignores it for now. He’ll give this
one a few minutes to either fumble the ball or manage a decent shot.

fabianp2
i’m only in town for a few days
are you on here for something casual or serious?

blackstar
Casual.

fabianp2
cool, me too
are you busy tonight?

blackstar
Just like that?

fabianp2
we can play 20 Qs if you want
but i feel like you like to skip the bullshit

Regulus’ grin spreads slowly, and he pushes the bottle of tequila away to pay better attention
to his phone.

Bingo.

blackstar
I do, so tell me what you want.

fabianp2
well i definitely want to fuck you
but we don’t have to start there

“What happened to hi? Hello? How are you?” Regulus mocks with a sigh, resting his cheek
on his fist.
His skin itches. It’s a crawl all over his body, like the feeling of being watched, and he only
realizes why when he glances up at the scattered pieces of the Titanic. He imagines James
sitting in the same chair he sits in every night his insomnia hits.

But James has his feet up on the table, ankles crossed while he inspects a tiny red Lego with
easy nonchalance. He grins that crooked, mischievous grin and rolls the Lego between his
fingers. His eyes sparkle behind his glasses like he already knows how this will go. So what’s
the plan, love? Get under someone else to get over me? Come on. We both know that won’t
work.

“Yes, it will,” Regulus says to his empty kitchen. He glares at the destroyed ship. “It might
take a few someones, but it’ll work eventually.”

Cute. This will be like Connor all over again. But he was before I had you properly.

Regulus reaches for the tequila bottle he just pushed away. James is still kicking around in his
head, incessant and irritating as hell. “It’s just sex. If it feels good, then that’s all that matters
to me. Sex is sex.”

Is it? And will it? A warm chuckle; it’s little more than a distant echo. Feel good, that is. It’s
a higher bar now.

“No, it’s not.” A half of a quarter shot. An eighth shot? Fuck if Regulus knows anymore.

I could make you come untouched with just my fingers and tongue. Come on, Princess. Be
serious. What can a guy named Fabian really offer you?

“Nothing,” Regulus says flatly, staring down at his phone. “He can offer me nothing, and
that’s the whole fucking point.”

He doesn’t want another James. He’s not trying to find someone who offers him the world on
a silver platter. He tried that, and it failed. So now he just needs to get James out of his head.
And the tequila isn’t working—in fact, it’s making things infinitely worse if he’s talking to
himself in an empty room—which means he needs something else. Something stronger.

Something tried and true that’s never, ever failed him.

blackstar
I hope you don’t think that’s all it’ll take.
You’re not trying very hard.

fabianp2
oh i haven’t even started trying yet
so are you busy tonight?

blackstar
That will depend on what you offer me.
fabianp2
you ever been to the alleyway?

The universe is definitely taking pity on him with this one. Regulus worries his bottom lip
between his teeth. Nervous energy courses through his veins. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he
shouldn’t, he—

blackstar
It’s been a long time but yeah I know it.
Is it still around?

fabianp2
my friend owns it.

blackstar
Bullshit.

fabianp2
cross my heart or however the saying goes
and why would i lie? i’m trying to fuck you
isn’t it in my best interest to tell the truth?

blackstar
If it’s the truth then I’m not paying for anything.

fabianp2
we have a table, so it’ll be free. promise :)

Regulus snorts in disbelief. Nothing is ever free. Especially not with men like Fabian, who
will expect something in exchange for all of their kindness. But there’s a mutual interest here.

Who cares what price Regulus has to pay to get what he wants?

blackstar
Will it only be us?

fabianp2
no, it’ll be us and some other friends
so have i sold you or do you need a little more?

blackstar
There’s more?
fabianp2
not sure if this is your thing but we’ll have stuff…
ecstasy, coke, weed
that sort of shit. no pressure tho
you can still come even if those aren’t your vibe

Regulus’ heart does an odd thing.

It trips, stumbles—stops. But then it’s racing, thumping wildly against his ribs. He is not
supposed to do this. He’s not supposed to go anywhere near this.

Barty.

Evan.

Lily.

Pandora.

Dorcas.

Marlene.

Call them. Work down the line. Tell someone you’re home and that everything is going to shit.
You can’t do this on your own.

His friends don’t even know that he’s back in London. He hasn’t told them what happened
between him and James. As far as any of them know, he’s still in Paris with a man who loves
him. He’s spoiled, busy spending Valentine’s Day weekend full of good food and satiated by
better sex.

He’s not sitting in his dimly lit kitchen chewing on the sidewall of his thumb, heart in his
throat and pulse racing. He rereads the messages over and over. There’s really no point in
stressing out his friends. They’ll run themselves ragged with worry, and all he needs is one
night.

He’ll be fine tomorrow. He can have one night to forget. It’ll only be for a little while. Is it so
wrong that he wants to push James out of his head? That he wants to forget about his fucked
up family and how little agency he has over his own life?

Just one night, and he’ll be fine tomorrow.

Really, he will.

blackstar
Alright I’ll give you a shot.
 What time and where?

fabianp2
brilliant :)
9 at King’s Cross?

blackstar
Sounds good.

Regulus sends his phone number before he exits out of the app. He doesn’t bother to browse
the other matches piling up. He found what he was looking for, and if Fabian doesn’t pan out,
then he’ll search again. But maybe the universe is throwing him a bone with this one.

It’s a small mercy.

His phone vibrates, drawing his attention away from the mess of Legos on his dining table.

Unknown
hi, it’s Fabian
is this Regulus?

Hi, it’s James. Is this Regulus?

He pours a full shot this time, lines tequila up right with the brim, and knocks it back with a
grimace. The aftertaste makes him stick out his tongue and shake his head like a dog. He
texts Fabian back, not bothering to save his number, then slides off the counter.

“Whoa,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand to steady himself.

This is the worst part about hard liquor—if he drinks while he’s sitting, he can work his way
to the bottom of a bottle without a problem. But the second he stands? Forget it. The whole
room spins, the floor slants, and he can’t focus on anything for very long. Briefly, he thinks
he might be sick; the room just won’t stop spinning.

But then it settles, the floor rights itself, and he breathes deep into his lungs.

Yeah, he’ll be fine.

Regulus shuffles into his living room and fiddles with the sound system. He’s going to piss
off his neighbors, but he can’t be arsed to care. He turns the volume to max, swaying with the
beat as he opens Instagram.

He types jfprongs in the search bar. Seeing James’ pictures makes him want to throw his
phone clear across the room, but he needs to do this. So he presses the three little dots in the
corner—and hits Block. Next he types padloops, pausing for only a second before he hits
Block. And then, just to be sure he’s covered all of his bases, he searches for rjlupin, presses
the same three little dots, and hits Block.

“Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you by proxy,” he says airily, spinning on a socked foot but
stumbling when the fabric twists and catches on carpet. He giggles to himself, hiccupping as
the floor tilts again.

It’s better to block them all. He’s not him when he’s at the bottom of a bottle or high as a kite.
His decisions aren’t his, and they’re definitely not made with any sort of clarity. If he misses
his brother enough, he’ll press that stupid Request to Follow button, and that is the complete
opposite of forgetting.

And what if he misses James? Oh, that’s real dangerous. The most dangerous, perhaps.

He stops dancing to focus on his phone one more time. The last message in their text thread
is from James: Morning, baby. I’m grabbing coffee after my run. What do you want? It’s
from the day before they left for Paris. Regulus had called instead of texting his answer, too
sleepy to manage the keyboard.

A croissant, he’d said, voice still thick with sleep.

You hate the Pret ones. You say they’re too dry and an insult to the French.

They are, but I’m hungry. And you’re not here, so a croissant will have to do.

Regulus could practically hear James’ eye roll when he said, I can make us breakfast when
I’m back if you really want me to.

Wasn’t talking about food, daddy. Regulus had laughed softly when James made a pained
noise. Besides, I don’t have time. I have to get ready for class. Early lecture this morning.

Damn it. I forgot about that.

Clearly, because you would never let me wake up without you on purpose… Would you?

Wouldn’t dream of it, love.

Regulus deletes their entire message thread. It makes him physically ill, but he has to do it.
There can’t be any temptation. Because dwelling on these messages isn’t forgetting, and all
he wants to do is wipe the memories. He doesn’t care if it means the last few months are a
canvas of black. Nothingness would be so much better than this.

With a deep, bracing breath, he blocks James’ number, then deletes his entire contact. There.
The temptation is gone. Regulus won’t text or call. And if James slips up and reaches out to
him, then he won’t know.

“See?” he says to himself, swaying to the music again. “No temptation.”

Eventually he stumbles down the hall to his bathroom to take a shower. He does his best to
avoid looking at himself in the mirror. He’s drunk enough he’ll start talking to his reflection,
and he really doesn’t want to hear what his better half has to say about tonight’s plans.
There’s a reason he’s not working his way down that damn list.

He scrubs himself raw under the scalding shower spray. His skin turns pink, then an alarming
shade of red in some places. If he lets his tequila-addled mind wander too far off, he can feel
James’ hands on him. They trip down his sides, over his hips. Fingertips delicately trace the
snake on his thigh. Gorgeous, baby, and prettier than the lot of them. One hand always finds
its way to his throat, thumb pressed to the underside of his jaw like a promise.

Regulus scrubs every place James has ever touched him until his skin smarts and the water
runs cold. But it does the trick—any thought of James is gone, and he’s a little more sober
now than he was before.

It’s easy enough to put himself together. He’s done this more times than he can count. The
song might be different, but the dance is the same. He knows every step by heart. But tonight,
he wings his eyeliner like Dorcas taught him, smudging the edges for a smokey look. The
effect is dramatic and devastating.

He picks out a pair of fishnet tights with a waistband that hugs the narrowest part of his
waist. When he stands in his closet to survey his options, a part of him itches to grab the
pleated skirt. With Docs and something cropped, it would look incredible. But it’s a
vulnerability he isn’t ready for. Not around men he doesn’t know.

Instead, he tugs on a pair of loose black cargo pants that sit a few inches below the waistband
of his tights. The flat expanse of his stomach is on display, as well as the dangly piece of
jewelry in his belly button. It’s casual, but it’s sexy, too. He finishes the fit with a black crop
top and stacks of silver rings on nearly every finger.

It isn’t until he’s lacing up his Docs that he gets the first text.

Barty
What the fuck is going on?

Regulus’ blood goes cold when he reads the message. He doesn’t need to ask what Barty is
on about.

He knows.

Barty
Why the fuck is James texting me and Ev?
He’s freaking out a little.
And he’s saying you broke up in Paris.
Are you really back in London?

He thought he would have more time. Days, if he was lucky and the universe felt nice. Or at
least until Monday, when his friends would expect him back with juicy details about his trip.
How did James get his friends’ numbers? Doesn’t he understand that Regulus is tired of the
meddling? This complicates everything.

When his friends didn’t know, there was less guilt. Regulus could get away with it.

Barty
Your fucking read receipts are on.
Answer me.

Regulus won’t cancel his plans. He refuses. He’ll bear the guilt later exactly as he’s done
before. He’s just so fucking tired of everyone meddling.

There are too many hands in the cookie jar, and he wants them out—all of them.

Barty
James said Rodolphus gave you coke.
And he said you flushed it but I know you.

He grabs his jean jacket from the coat closet, then his keys and wallet from the credenza. His
phone vibrates in his pocket after he’s stepped outside into the cool night air. He’s on time. If
the trains aren’t delayed, he should arrive at King’s Cross a little after nine.

Barty
Regulus. You’ve been sober for 2 years.
Don’t fuck this up. Please.
Let me and Ev come over.

These ones give him pause. He stands at the end of the walkway leading to his flat and stares
at the messages. A lump forms in his throat that he can’t swallow around. He can practically
hear Barty begging him not to walk to his closest station. There’s still a chance for him to
turn back. He hasn’t started sliding yet. He’s balanced on the edge, but he hasn’t fallen over.
But what will Barty and Evan do for him? He’ll tell them what happened in Paris, and Barty
will vow to kill James if he ever comes near Regulus again. Then Barty will roll them a joint
to share, and after Regulus has had a proper, pathetic cry, they’ll watch Netflix. Maybe Evan
will curl up with him on the couch, chin tucked in the curve of his shoulder. And maybe, just
maybe, if they’re feeling particularly sorry for him, they’ll take him to bed.

It would be just like old times.

And that’s the problem. Regulus doesn’t want old times. He wants to move forward, to go. At
least where he’s going, he can breathe a little. Let loose. Give himself some time to feel
nothing at all. The thought alone makes him feel lighter. It buoys him the whole way to the
station, up the stairs, and onto the platform.

His train arrives on time.

Regulus’ phone buzzes a sudden consistent rhythm.

Incoming Call
Barty

Regulus boards the train, finds a comfortable seat far away from anyone else, and with
Barty’s call still incoming, he sends one text:

Regulus
On the train. I’ll get in 9:06.

Unknown
see you soon!
oh and here’s this
<1 Picture Attached>

Regulus opens the picture, squinting at the details. Test results dated a week ago—negative
the whole way down. His stomach flips; he’d forgotten about this part. Not that he doesn’t
want it. The initial search was for a warm body, after all. His mind has simply moved on to
other things. Things he hasn’t had in a long, long time.

His knee bounces incessantly. He sends a picture of his own results, also dated a week ago.
He still goes to the clinic regularly, even though he hasn’t been with anyone but James since
he sent Connor away. Coincidentally convenient, he supposes.

Fabian reacts to the picture with a heart, and Regulus nearly splits his bottom lip between his
teeth.
 The train jolts forward, and Barty calls again. There’s a text from Evan now, too. After a few
minutes, one from Lily arrives to tell him she’s in the area and happy to stop by if he wants to
hang out. Then it’s Dorcas—Hey, Reggie. You alright?

He should tell them, I’m alright, don’t worry, I’m just on my way to Barty and Evan’s place.
He shouldn’t leave the people who love and care about him in the dark. Not when they’re
desperately trying to keep him from losing his balance and stumbling off the edge.

But tonight isn’t about them.

Don’t they understand how much it hurts to hand his heart over, to trust so much it rendered
him completely fucking blind—only to find out the person he truly believed wouldn’t hurt
him was lying to him the entire time? Don’t they see how awful he’s felt for the last ten
years, saddled with the truth that his brother has lived on just fine without him even though
he misses Sirius every single day?

Barty
Reg. Please.

Regulus
I’m fine.

He knows Barty won’t believe him, but for once, he wants everyone to stop interfering with
his life and his choices. No more meddling. No more decisions made for him. He wants all of
them to leave him alone.

Just one night. That’s all he’s asking for.

Is that really so bad?

By the time his train pulls into King’s Cross, Regulus has put every single one of his friends
on mute.

Chapter End Notes

sooooooo there's a reason every chapter of this fic is titled with a lyric from "Escapism"
...

this one was very "calm before the storm." it was also originally 16.8k words long 💀
think of Ch 16 & 17 as a part one/part two of their own. we had a small breather after
so

the fight in Ch 15, but Ch 17 is a rollercoaster that didn't belong with this one. because
this chapter is largely Reg working through the overload of emotions they're feeling, and
the fact that they don't want to feel them. Reg spends a lot of this chapter justifying their
decision to find a way to feel nothing, even though what they should do is buy a big tub
of ice cream, call their friends over, and just be sad for a while.

they're also wallowing in memories. Reg sees James everywhere and thinks of him
constantly, because that's what happens when you're heartbroken. it's like "i used to love
this shirt, but now every time i wear it, i think of you." and you don't realize how much

memories tied to it...🫠

you didn't appreciate the shirt before, but now that you can't wear it because of the
this is a simplification, but you get the idea. the smallest things
can trigger big, painful memories — and Reg has had enough.

also my heart hurts for Reg looking at the pictures because like ... they're seeing pieces
of a life. teeny tiny snapshots. of course Sirius looks happy in a graduation photo or
hanging out with his friends. of course he's not sad in those moments. but this is all Reg
has of their brother, and it's all just Sirius happy. so it's easy to justify "my brother is
happy without me," even though this is .001% of Sirius' life that Reg is seeing.

and last thing — please please pleeeease don't go into Ch 17 with the mindset that James
and Sirius made Regulus relapse, or are somehow responsible for it. i know it's tempting
considering how this whole situation has unfolded, but a BIG part of an addict's
recovery process is addressing underlying issues, learning healthy coping mechanisms,
and accepting responsibility for their addiction... and guess what Regulus has NOT done
up to this point? they're the definition of "i don't have a problem; i'm just going through
a rough patch." but had Reg done the recovery work properly, this entire situation
could've been avoided — and that's not James or Sirius' fault. in all fairness, James had
no idea about Reg's past with drugs until Milan. and if James had come clean then, this
still would've been the end result.

but hey, once you hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up...

also yes the chapter count did go up. you can blame Sirius for that one :)

this chapter is dedicated to the c² corner of the TTPD Fest Discord server, and
specifically to Danielle, who messaged Michael Cimino on Cameo on our behalf.
Michael, if you're reading this — i'm not even a little bit sorry.
 i left everyone i love on read
Chapter Notes

🫠
this is pretty much the exact Regulus we met in Ch 1... but this regression comes at what
cost?

i'm putting the trigger warnings under spoiler tags so you can choose to view them if
you don't mind minor spoilers, or you can go into this blind. either way, remember
there's an HEA, so everyone comes out of this mess better than they went into it <3

trigger/content warnings

See the end of the chapter for more notes

King’s Cross on a Saturday night is a mess of people coming and going. It’s been ages since
Regulus last stepped off a train and onto a platform in this station. Lately, he spends most of
his time in the passenger seat of a sports car. It’s a temporary moment of panic before he
collects himself, gets his bearings, and remembers which horde of people to follow.

King’s Cross isn’t nearly big enough for Regulus to manage a solid grip on his nervous
jitters. He weaves through the crowd, nearly jumping out of his skin any time someone
brushes past. He doesn’t know this side of himself anymore; he tucked it away months ago.
And it’s been a long time since he let himself be this unconcerned with consequence. It
doesn’t come as naturally as it once did.

Not to mention Regulus hasn’t been this person since… Well, since before.

He did away with his rotating roster after he met Benjy. This one will be good for me, he’d
thought, no longer interested in mindless swipes and meaningless hookups. In Regulus’
defense, it did work for a while. But before Benjy, it was more fun to flirt until he had this
one wrapped around his finger, or that one eager to know his name, his address, his routing
number. James Potter wasn’t the first to offer a sum with too many zeroes.

He was merely the one who mattered.

The thought stokes Regulus’ fury all over again. Not at James this time, but at himself. He
knew. He fucking knew. James was an easy enough mark. Had Regulus been smarter from
the jump, he could’ve batted James around like a cat with a mouse. He managed the math
earlier when he was enough tequila shots deep to stupidly care, but not so drunk he’d blur the
numbers.

£93,250—that’s how much money James has sent since he crash-landed in Regulus’ life.

Regulus is half-tempted to buy another Porsche with the money and let someone else fuck
him in it, but he doesn’t have the energy. Not tonight. And what good would it do anyway?
He’d still be pissed off, but now with a car he doesn’t even need. Maybe he’ll invest it in a
competing company. After that, he’ll use the profits to pack up his whole life, move far away
from London, and never work again.

There are no long-lost brothers and lying ex boyfriends in the Swiss Alps.

Regulus leans against the glass wall of the station’s tiny Starbucks and drops his head back to
stare at the half-domed ceiling. He can do this. He does this all of the time, even though what
he does at the club isn’t quite the same. There, he only has to read a man well enough to
guess his fantasy. Then it’s a matter of providing exactly what will make them crack their
wallets wide open.

But a meaningless hookup? Regulus hasn’t done this since Connor, and even then, he didn’t
particularly care one way or the other. More than anything, it was about pushing James until
his infuriating nonchalance shattered. Regulus didn’t need to sleep with Connor; he only did
it because it was something to do.

So maybe that’s all this needs to be—something for Regulus to do. Someone who’s willing to
let him use and toss them aside once he’s satisfied. Fabian isn’t a London resident. This can
be easy. Fun. Flirty.

Regulus simply needs to chill the fuck out.

Swearing under his breath, he pushes off the wall and heads for the Euston Road exit. He
surveys the throng of people packed into King’s Cross Square until it parts—and there. He
catches sight of Fabian leaning against a low wall only fifteen or so paces away. Briefly, he
considers turning on his heel, marching right back to the train, and canceling. He should. He
knows he should. But that would mean a night of wallowing, of wishing he had something to
take the edge off, and that sounds far worse than what Fabian promised him.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, stepping into the bustling crowd and cool night air.

The instant Fabian lays eyes on him, Regulus knows he has this one wrapped around his
finger. It’s in the noticeable shift from interest to recognition to glee. Regulus had nothing to
fret over, did he? It’s easy enough to shed the skin he wore while playing house with James.
And this mask is an old friend.

Fabian is tall but not overly so. He’s narrowly built with broad shoulders and a shock of red
hair. Freckles dot his nose and cheeks in varying sizes and hues. His jawline is sharp, his lips
full, and his eyes are a bright blue rimmed by long, ginger lashes. He’s dressed in a casual
navy-colored button down, dark jeans, and black boots.

When Regulus approaches, he stubs his cigarette out on the concrete wall then tosses the butt
in a nearby bin. “Hey,” he says easily, eyes moving slowly down Regulus’ body and back up
again. “Glad you made it in one piece. You look even better in person.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Regulus holds out his hand, nodding to the carton of cigarettes
on the wall behind Fabian. He holds his breath until there’s a stick between his teeth, the end
glowing orange. This isn’t his favorite brand, but it’ll do. The first inhale steadies the subtle
tremor in his hands.

Yeah, he’ll be fine.

Fabian flashes him a grin. “Always good to hear. You travel far?”

“Not really,” Regulus lies. “You?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Right. Traveling. How long are you in London?”

“Until Monday morning. I’ve got an early train out. Then it’s back to Scotland for me.”

“Your accent is English, so what are you doing all the way up there in Scotland?” Regulus
takes a step closer, crossing an arm over his middle to support his elbow. He looks up at
Fabian from underneath his lashes, blowing smoke so it curls between them in the cool night
air.

Fabian tongues the inside of his cheek, and a slight smirk plays on his lips. He doesn’t fidget
under the weight of Regulus’ curious gaze. “I’m an adjunct professor at the University of
Edinburgh. I usually teach here in London, but I’m spending a few terms in Scotland to help
out a friend.”

“What do you teach?”

“Finance.”

Regulus nods appreciatively, drawing in another lungful of smoke before he speaks. “Then
you’re handsome and educated. Seems too good to be true that you’re single, so what’s the
catch?”

“Straight to the heavy hitters.”

“No bullshit, remember?” Regulus quirks a brow, and Fabian’s smile stretches wider.

“Right, right.” He chuckles warmly. “There’s no catch. It’s just a little difficult to meet people
these days. Don’t you think?”

Regulus shrugs. “I guess. But we could’ve met by chance. I was planning to go to the
Alleyway tonight before you mentioned it.”

“Yeah, maybe we could’ve met there. But would you have even looked at me twice?”

“No.” Regulus grins coyly around the end of his cigarette. “But I’m looking now, so what
does it matter?”

This version of himself is easier to become than he anticipated. This Regulus is carefree. He
smiles easily and flirts openly, and he doesn’t care about a damn thing. If he can keep this up
for the rest of the night, then he might get what he came for after all. And when Fabian’s gaze
travels the length of his body again, Regulus smiles fully.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Maybe we should skip the club. We can go somewhere just you and me,” Fabian murmurs,
reaching out to hook his finger through one of Regulus’ belt loops and tug him closer. He
bends down to nose at the hinge of Regulus’ jaw. “My hotel isn’t far. I know we said we
don’t have to start there, but… God, you’re tempting.”

From this close, Fabian smells woodsy and rich. His cologne hangs heavy in the air,
interwoven with cigarette smoke. Regulus doesn’t hate it. “Scared I’ll find out you don’t
actually know the owner of the Alleyway?” he teases, blowing smoke out of the corner of his
mouth so it doesn’t drift into Fabian’s face. “I still don’t believe you, by the way.”

“No, I know him. We’ve been friends for a little over a year. So I’m pretty sure he’d
understand if I said I’m too preoccupied to make it tonight.”

Regulus leans into Fabian, giggling when the hand caught between them flattens over his
stomach. “So is this what you do in your free time, professor? Match with guys online, then
offer to get them into fancy clubs? Do you bribe all of them with free liquor?”

Fabian’s low laugh blows warm over Regulus’ skin. “No. Just the pretty ones.”

“Lucky me.”

“You’re very mouthy.”

“Heard that one before. I’m starting to wonder if it’s a character flaw.”

“I didn’t say it’s a bad thing.”

“Most usually don’t.” Regulus huffs a soft laugh when Fabian’s fingers twitch in the squares
of his tights, dangerously close to the waistband of his cargo pants. He takes a full step away,
pleased when Fabian makes a noise of discontent at the loss. His hand drops uselessly to his
thigh.

It’s a bit like riding a bike. Regulus was nervous at first, afraid of falling, but once he found
his balance and remembered the right rhythm, it became exactly what it’s always been—easy.
He knows how to twist a man into his preferred shape. Over the years, if there’s one thing
he’s learned, it’s that men are incredibly moldable creatures.

This one is no different.

“Curious as I am about the rest of you,” Regulus says, reaching over to stub his cigarette out
on the wall, “you promised me free shit. And I didn’t make myself look this pretty not to get
what I came for tonight.”

“And here I thought you came for me.”

“Not yet, but I might later.”

Fabian’s face splits into a broad grin. “You sure you don’t want to go back to my hotel?”

“No.” Regulus crosses his arms and looks pointedly at the taxi lane nearby. “I meant what I
said about getting what I came for.”

“Definitely no bullshit with you.” Fabian pushes off the wall and tilts his head towards the
line of idling black taxis. “C’mon then.”

They spend most of the ride chatting. It’s a surprise to Regulus, who would be happier to sit
in utter silence, but he lets the man prattle on and offers responses when they’re needed. He
learns that Fabian was born and raised in Gloucestershire but moved to London for
university. After graduation, he stayed in the city for a while, only to head up to Edinburgh a
year ago. When Regulus points out he’s a bit young to be a professor, Fabian merely laughs.

“Thirty-four isn’t that young for a professor, trust me. It’s not my fault most of them are
ancient, but a lot of us are mid-thirties to early forties.” His hand inches closer to Regulus’
thigh as he speaks.

“Most of my professors are ancient, which seems counterintuitive considering what I study.”

“And what’s that?”

“Software engineering. You would think they want younger faculty, but nope.” Regulus
stares at the hand inching closer to his right thigh. There’s no wedding band on Fabian’s
finger, but that doesn’t mean anything. Plenty of men tuck them away when they’re out of
town. Hell, they do it when they’re a mere thirty minute drive from home. Half of his clients
pocket their wedding bands before they enter the club.

“Then you’re smart as hell,” Fabian says. “Maybe it’s me who should be asking you why
you’re on a dating app. You’re young. Attractive. Smart. So what’s the catch?”

Regulus fights like hell to keep his flirtatious air from souring. He spent the majority of his
time on the train shoving James in a box labeled DANGEROUS — DO NOT OPEN.
Fabian’s question is innocent enough, but it reminds him that not even twenty-four hours
have passed since he had James on top of him, whispering sweet nothings in the curve of his
shoulder as he came.

Well, fuck.

“No catch,” he manages through gritted teeth. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of
it. “It’s like you said. It’s hard to meet people naturally, and I don’t have a lot of free time
these days.”

“Fair enough.” Fabian seems unaware of Regulus’ sudden downward spiral. “Ever been to
Scotland?”

Regulus decides to save this man the trouble of subtlety and shifts his leg closer. Sensing the
invitation, Fabian curves a hand around Regulus’ thigh. He doesn’t expect the touch to make
his skin crawl, but it does immediately. Fabian’s hand isn’t the right size or shape. The weight
is all wrong. He doesn’t squeeze hard enough, and his thumb doesn’t move back and forth in
soothing caresses.

For one brief, awful moment, Regulus is in the passenger seat of an Aston Martin with a hand
curved around his right thigh. It’s shifted too high to be innocent, rucking the hem of his
pleated skirt up around a wrist adorned with a gold Cartier watch.

What color are you wearing for me tonight, Princess?

Wouldn’t you like to know.

A little higher. Fingers dig into soft flesh, urging Regulus’ thighs to part. I would.

Keep your eyes on the road.

Just a peek?

No. It’ll ruin the surprise. But even as he says it, he inches down in his seat. Spreads his
knees until they hit the door and center console on either side. He swallows when knuckles
brush over lace where he’s slowly filling out.

What color, love?

His skirt bunches around the hand shifting to cup him gently. He moans when the heel of a
wretched palm presses down, easing the sudden need for pressure. Red, he croaks, hips
bucking up to chase more of that delicious friction. His fingers encircle the wrist tucked
between his thighs. I wore red for you.

Good boy. More gentle pressure, and a moan rips from Regulus’ throat. Me gusta escuchar
eso.

Regulus almost chokes on the sound threatening to crawl past his lips. Fabian continues on
about Edinburgh. He doesn’t seem to notice Regulus falling apart beside him—thankfully.
Regulus doesn’t want to draw attention to how his heart is little more than a pile of broken
pieces behind his ribs.

Maybe that’s why this is so easy—he simply doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about Fabian’s
life, or what he does for work, or where he lives. Regulus is too busy trying to hold the box
together in his mind so he can stuff James away inside it.

Fucking hell, he needs a drink. By the time the taxi comes to a stop in front of the busy
nightclub, Regulus becomes painfully aware that even his slight buzz from earlier is gone.

He lets Fabian help him out of the taxi, but he pulls his hand away once he’s standing.
There’s a line of people on the pavement that stretches clear down the road and around a
corner. Girls dressed in low cut dresses with short hems huddle together to keep warm. Men
lounge against the club’s tall brick walls, nudging each other whenever a group of girls
passes.
The Alleyway is located in an old warehouse district that hasn’t seen production for at least a
decade. A few years back, a real estate mogul bought the entire road of abandoned buildings,
but he only opted to convert two side-by-side warehouses into distinctly different but sister
clubs.

The largest belongs to Diagon Alley, where the cocktails are fruitier (and watered down), and
the DJs play remixed songs from the radio’s Top 100 list. The lights are brighter, and the
dance floor is interactive, made up of large boxes that change color with every few steps. To
Regulus, the place is an absolute headache.

Across the narrow alley bridging the two clubs together is Diagon’s sister: Knockturn.

Here, the drinks are more expensive, but the bartenders pour with heavy hands. Even at his
peak, Regulus was wary of drinking more than two or three cocktails from Knockturn’s bar.
But beyond the better drinks, the atmosphere itself is darker. The bass beats heavier, fast and
steady, and the club’s main lighting comes from multicolored strobe lights kept slightly
dimmed.

But the best—and most exclusive—part of Knockturn is its second floor. This is where
Fabian takes Regulus once they’re inside the packed warehouse. They managed to skip the
line, which Regulus begrudgingly admitted was a little impressive. The bouncers allowed
them past without question, nodding to Fabian when he flashed his ID.

Inside, Regulus’ pulse beats in time with the bass. He follows Fabian up a stairway built into
the wall near the entrance. Honestly, Regulus is far too sober for this. He remembers this
exact walk. It’s one he’s done a hundred times before, usually when he’s well past tipsy and
on the arm of someone offering him the world—for a price.

What are you doing what have you done go home Regulus go home go home go—

“I’ll order us drinks in a second,” Fabian calls, leaning in close to be heard over the music. “I
want you to meet my friends. We have bottle service up here, so you don’t have to go to the
bar if you don’t want to.”

Regulus doesn’t. He wants to find a comfortable spot on a fancy couch and drink until he’s
back in his blurry state. He’ll dance later. Right now, he needs to step away from the edge
he’s riding.

Knockturn’s second floor is a loft stretching halfway across the warehouse. The ceiling is
lower here, and although the music isn’t as loud, bass still beats rhythmically under their feet.
There are countless U-shaped couches surrounding low tables crowded with ice buckets and
open bottles. It’s not cheap to buy a table at the Alleyway, especially when it’s at Knockturn.
Regulus analyzes the different groups as they pass, cataloging finely cut suits and dainty
wrists adorned with stacks of Van Cleef jewelry.

These are some of London’s social elite. They’re the sons and daughters of business tycoons,
real estate moguls, and the occasional politician. They pay for exclusive tables as well as
secrecy. There are no cameras on the second floor of Knockturn, which is a damn good thing
considering the lines of white powder cut neatly on glass tables, and the clear baggies full of
colorful tablets in cute shapes.

Regulus’ mouth dries, and his throat tightens. He shifts his gaze quickly away from a girl
who’s bent over a table nearby. Her dress rides up when she leans forward to do a line, and
her laugh when she falls back against the couch is euphoric. It manages to hit Regulus’ ears
over the music and din of conversation.

He weaves around tables and couches, following Fabian to the very back corner. Here is an
area even more secluded, with finer sofas of ruby red supporting wealthier and wealthier
clientele the further back they go. He catches sight of male and female strippers in laps and
on tables, and his stomach twists.

“Fabian! You finally fucking made it! We thought you ditched us.”

Regulus startles at the sight of a man coming towards them. He’s a picture-perfect replica of
Fabian, except for his slightly longer hair and more relaxed outfit.

When he’s within earshot, Regulus sputters, “Hold on. Are you twins?”

“Regulus, meet Gideon. Gideon, this is Regulus.” Fabian waves his hand between them,
rolling his eyes when Gideon makes a show of offering his own to Regulus.

“Now I see what took my brother so bloody long. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you,” he
says with a wide, toothy grin, shaking Regulus’ hand. “Me and Fabian are indeed twins. I’m
one minute older, though.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Fabian mutters. “Will you always lead with that?”

“Absolutely.”

Regulus withdraws his hand, looking curiously back and forth. “I really can’t tell the
difference,” he admits. “Except for the hair. Your hair is different.”

“There are some differences, yeah,” Gideon says. He sips from his glass, a light dancing in
his eyes. “Some are more noticeable than others. It depends on where you look.”

Fabian scoffs. “Subtle.”

“Subtlety is not my style. I leave that to you.” Gideon grins fully at his brother, then beckons
them both to follow him to a couch tucked away in the farthest corner. Even here, Regulus
can feel the heavy bass from down below through the thick soles of his Docs.

Five men sit on yet another U-shaped couch. Regulus surveys them from left to right. Most
are unassuming, and he pays them little mind. But the one in the middle catches his eye.

He stretches one arm casually across the back of the sofa while his other hand nurses a clear
glass of dark liquid. His skin is a deep, rich brown, and his coarse, black hair is cropped close
to his skull. His dark eyes are rimmed by thick, coal-colored lashes, and his teeth are bright
white when he smiles, laughing at what the man to his right has said.
As though sensing the weight of Regulus’ gaze, the man turns. Regulus stares defiantly back
at him. Say something, he dares, eyes slightly narrowed. The man regards him with blatant
amusement, but remains silent while Fabian makes introductions.

“Guess we’ll just go down the line. You already met Gideon, so we’ll ignore him. But this is
Caradoc, Amycus, Kingsley, Antonin, and Corban.” Fabian points to each of them in turn,
but Regulus doesn’t follow his hand. “That’s everyone. And everyone, this is—”

“Regulus.”

Six heads swivel to look at Kingsley, who still watches Regulus with obvious delight. There’s
an upturned curl to his lips.

“Long time no see, yeah? How long has it been?”

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “A few years, give or take.”

“You fell off the map, darling. I’ve missed you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Of course I have. You were always one of my favorites.” Kingsley leans forward, and his
smile stretches from ear to ear. “You look good. Real good.”

Regulus sucks his teeth. He surveys the fine cut of Kingsley’s deep purple suit, the gold rings
on his fingers, the relaxed set of his shoulders. “You’ve aged.”

Kingsley barks a laugh. “You never were one to give compliments freely. Always happy to
receive them, though.”

“Sorry,” Fabian interjects, confusion pinching his features. “Do you two know each other?”

“We go way back. Don’t we, Reg?” Kingsley sips his drink, his tone overly familiar, but
when Regulus offers nothing, he continues, “Regulus used to come here all of the time until
he stopped rather suddenly. No calls, no texts. Just…gone. Like a ghost. Where are your
other friends? The two devils on your shoulder?”

Regulus’ phone burns a hole in his front pocket. “They didn’t feel like coming out tonight.”

“Bummer. I was hoping to get my hands on the full set someday.”

“Keep wishing.”

Kingsley raises his glass before shifting his gaze to Fabian. “Be careful with this one. He’ll
chew you up and spit you out. It’s what he did with all the rest.”

“Easy, Kingsley,” Regulus says with a scowl. “You sound a little jealous.”

“So what if I am?”

Before Regulus can respond, Kingsley turns his attention back to Amycus; it’s a clear
dismissal. The other men follow, returning to their conversations, and Fabian leans in close so
as not to be overhead.

“You didn’t tell me you knew the owner of this place, too.”

“You didn’t ask,” Regulus replies drily. “Do you know how many men have used that line on
me in the past? Whether it’s this club or another, they’re usually lying. I had to see how far
you’d take the lie if it was one.”

Fabian shakes his head wryly, but he doesn’t appear to be irritated. “Are any of the rest of
them old friends?”

“No.” Regulus surveys the couch again. He catches Caradoc’s eye, but the other man shifts
his gaze away quickly, a blush coloring his pale cheeks. “I don’t know the rest of them.”

“They’re fun, I promise. I’ll go grab a bottle girl to order us some drinks. What do you
want?”

“Anything with vodka is fine. But make sure it’s a double.”

Regulus takes a seat between Gideon and Caradoc at Gideon’s insistence, and for a little
while at least, it’s uneventful. When Fabian returns with a vodka cranberry that he assures
Regulus is a double, he finds himself settling back into this lifestyle a little easier.

He wasn’t an escort, but he was something dangerously close near the end. These are
memories he’s blocked out, tucked away in the boxes he shoved them in years ago. Or
perhaps they’re memories he never had at all. It was rare when he came to the Alleyway less
than tipsy, and it was even rarer when he left sober—or alone.

The details of this place were not ones he ever shared with James. Sure, he mentioned the
cycle of regretful decisions that led to more drugs that led to more regretful decisions, until
he wound up in a downward spiral he couldn’t escape on his own. But he never told James
about Kingsley, who spotted Regulus from the balcony’s edge one night and sent a bouncer to
grab him off the dance floor. Or Kingsley’s friends, who had more money than they knew
what to do with and were happy to throw it at any pretty face smiling their way.

That was the summer of rapid decline. When he slept all day and stayed out all night. When
his nose never stopped running and he spent more time high or drunk than he did sober.
When he started to run out of money and found other ways to make it that he will never, ever
tell another soul about. When he finally met Barty and Evan, who saw the mess he hid
beneath the carefree exterior made up of false glitz and glamor.

But his friends aren’t here to save him now, and his vodka cranberry is already half-finished
by the time one of the men—Antonin, he thinks—pulls an 8-ball from his pocket, tosses it in
front of Kingsley, and says, “Got more where this came from if we need it, so don’t be shy.
Ecstasy too, if we’re feelin’ like it.”
Regulus’ heart pounds against his ribcage, working its way steadily into his throat. He stares
at the drugs on the glass table like they’ll bite him if he looks away. Beside him, Caradoc
shifts forward, nervous energy rolling off of him in waves. He asks Antonin for a pill, says
coke isn’t really his thing, and Antonin rummages through his pockets for another clear
baggie. This one is filled with brightly colored tablets.

You shouldn’t mix ‘em, someone once told Regulus. Always pick your poison and only one.

Generally, Regulus listened. But there were more than a few nights he binged coke just to
pop pills at three a.m. when he wanted to remain in the clouds. Those nights usually put him
in a dark room for days at a time, the comedown so bad he could barely sleep, drink, or eat.

He watches Kingsley cut lines on the clear glass tabletop. They’re neat. Practiced. He’s done
this a thousand times. Then it’s a tenner pulled from his wallet and rolled up tight. He holds it
out, looking to each of them in turn. His gaze lingers longest on Regulus, drifting away
before it comes back.

“First line of the night,” he says, one brow arched in challenge. “You always did want the
honors.”

Regulus wants to crawl out of his skin. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be half a double
vodka cranberry deep with an order for another in the queue. He shouldn’t reach across
Caradoc and Amycus to take the rolled up tenner from Kingsley’s fingers.

He shouldn’t get slowly to his feet as the two men between him and Kingsley shuffle aside so
he can sit. This is what his family wants, isn’t it? For him to lose sight of himself and spiral
down until he splatters against the same rock bottom he hit two years ago.

But does he even care? Let them plaster his face all over every magazine in the UK. Maybe
the Chocolate Frog sells trashy tabloids and Sirius will see him. Maybe James will get a
notification on his phone. What would his headline be? Black Heir Busted: Shocking Pics
Reveal Drug-Fueled Night? Out of Control: Black Heir Caught On a Wild Drug Binge?

Fuck it. As if the tabloids give a shit about him. He’s never been anyone special. Always
second choice. Second best. Even if someone did manage to capture this exact moment, it
wouldn’t make a damn difference.

He doesn’t want to feel like this anymore. He doesn’t want to keep remembering the awful
truth—he won’t go back to James’ flat when tonight ends, and it’s what he wants more than
anything. He won’t wake up in warm, solid arms, or be kissed all over until he’s giggling,
begging James to stop because that tickles, cut it out, don’t—oh, oh, that’s—yeah, that’s
better.

He can’t have any of that, so he might as well have this.

The first hit burns so bad his eyes water, but he knew it would. Even when he did this
regularly, the fine powder always ate away at the inside of his nose. A little bite of
punishment before the euphoria swept him away. There’s always a price to pay, after all.
Nothing worthwhile ever comes without it.
“Fuck,” he breathes, sniffing so hard his eyes roll back. He passes the tenner to Amycus, who
nudges him to move.

He has a minute. Maybe two. It’s not instant, but it won’t take long before it hits his
bloodstream. He gets to his feet, unsteady until someone takes his wrist and tugs him
forward. He stumbles, laughing—or at least, it sounds like his laugh—until he falls back
against the couch.

He stares up at the ceiling and waits. Bass beats through his blood, pounding a rhythm
alongside his heart. But soon his heart outpaces the music downstairs. It races, so much faster
than before. But no one’s heart should beat this fast. It’s dangerous, isn’t it? He should—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

There it is. Exactly what he wanted.

Absolutely.

Fucking.

Nothing.

Except for a burst of pure euphoria, of a happiness like none other, and he is limitless.
Unstoppable. On top of the fucking world.

Regulus knows he’s smiling because he feels every tooth in his skull. Feels the metal through
his tongue and how it clinks against the tiny bones in his mouth when he laughs. The first
line is always the best. It makes him unbelievably, inexplicably, and wonderfully high.

He wants to go downstairs and dance until his legs give out. He wants to run through the
streets of London and never stop running. He wants to have sex until the sun comes up and
then keep going, because if he feels this good like this then won’t sex feel even better?

Maybe perhaps possibly he doesn’t know because all he knows right now is that he wants
more and more and more until there’s none left and even then he will want more because it’s
an impossibly short high that he will spend the rest of his night chasing until the sun comes
up and even then he won’t be finished he won’t sleep he won’t need it he won’t—

“Fuck,” he says again, reaching for his drink. It tastes better. Sweeter. He sips the rest down
in record time. Wants more the second he reaches the bottom and there’s nothing left in his
glass. And then, like magic, a hand dusted with freckles takes his drink away and replaces it
with a full glass of red liquid. Perfect.

He lolls his head to the side and looks up into blue eyes. “You gonna kiss me or what?” he
asks petulantly, his drink cold against his skin. Condensation coats his palm.
Fabian bites his bottom lip, nodding slowly. His pupils are blown, a bit wild—upper eyes,
because he’s riding the same high as Regulus now. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. C’mere.”

There’s a hand on his outer thigh urging him to turn into a warm, solid body. It slides up over
his ass to the small of his waist, and Regulus lets this stranger pull him into a searing kiss.
There’s distant laughter, voices all around, but it’s easy to ensconce himself in this little
world. He licks into Fabian’s mouth, pleased when Fabian moans into his.

Same song, different dance, and Regulus is in Fabian’s lap with his knees bracketing narrow
hips before he can think twice about it. Not that he would be able to; his brain is working too
goddamn fast for him to overthink anything. This was always his favorite part—the mad
spirals of self-doubt go silent the instant the drugs hit his bloodstream. There’s no place for
all of that here, where he’s flying high and feels so fucking good.

“Where did you learn how to move like this?” Fabian asks, breaking away to kiss along
Regulus’ jaw to the soft hollow behind his ear. “It’s like—I dunno. You move like a snake.
And I mean that in the best way.”

“Ballet as a kid.” Regulus tilts his head back, gaze caught on the low ceilings where little
circular lights emit muted colors of the rainbow. “Now I give lap dances for a living.”

“Huh?”

“Stripper. Like I’m—I’m fucking Batman,” he explains, giggling because it’s ridiculous,
really, that he never thought of this before. “Engineering student by day, stripper by night.
Saving the world one lap dance at a time until I can invent something really fucking cool and
world-altering. Batman.”

Fabian snorts a laugh. “I don’t care about the rest of the world, but you’re sure as hell saving
mine right now. Damn, baby, just keep doing that.”

Baby.

Baby, baby, baby baby baby

babybabybaby

baby ven aquí get filthy with it baby be honest with me baby you know I just won gold easy
baby slow down we don’t have to

Teeth in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, tentative until Regulus’ soft noise is misread
for pleasure when all it really is, is pain. Not physical, but so much worse. This is the
problem with cocaine that he learned early on but never took to heart: the high burns out fast.
It can be fifteen, twenty, forty minutes if you’re lucky, but it doesn’t matter how long or short
it lasts—because it ends.

And it’s not a gentle feather floating

down
down

n and back to Earth.

No, it’s a head on collision accompanied by the worst feeling in the world, and a need to do
more because you felt so good before the crash. So Regulus does another line, even though a
part of him screams this is how it starts and the spiral is never ending.

Fuck it fuck it fuck it.

The euphoria hits, he’s on top of the world, and nothing else matters.

A warm, wet tongue follows the beat of his pulse. “Feeling good?” Fabian asks, and Regulus
nods emphatically.

“Good. Yeah. Feeling fucking great, yeah,” he says, all in a rush.

“Didn’t think you’d be up for the drugs.”

“Yeah.” It’s nonsensical, but every synapse in his brain fires at once. Teeth graze his Adam’s
apple. “Done ‘em before a few times.” Understatement of the fucking year. “Not anything
new to me.”

Fabian laughs again, says, “Good,” and kisses Regulus full on the mouth. Hands the wrong
shape and size wander all over him, eager to explore. They dip under the waistband of his
tights, then his cargo pants, pausing to gauge the response before dipping low enough to
knead the top of his ass.

“Jesus,” Fabian mutters into Regulus’ mouth. “Firm as hell.”

“Don’t talk,” he says before he can stop the thought from slipping past his lips.

“I thought you like compliments?”

“No, I don’t. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

How does he say that even Fabian’s compliments are the wrong shape? His hands, his kisses,
the way he tastes—wrong, wrong, wrong. But it’s not his fault, and if Regulus was interested
in doing the right thing then he wouldn’t be here at all. So he repeats, “Don’t talk,” and
Fabian looks taken aback but doesn’t argue when Regulus kisses him.

Time blurs alongside everything else. He loses track of how many lines he does. Is it after
midnight? Before? He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care to ask. There’s a rolled up tenner between
his fingers. Kingsley whispers in his ear, “I meant it when I said you were one of my
favorites,” and the inside of Regulus’ nose fucking burns.

“Fuck off,” he snaps, shoving Kingsley none too gently in the ribs. “I didn’t come here with
you.”

“So? You can still leave here with me. It’ll be like old times.”

“I don’t want old times.”

Kingsley only laughs. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“Getting high. Quit ruining it. Fucking hell.” Regulus gets to his feet, back on top of the
world, and holds out a hand for Fabian. “Dance with me? Downstairs. Not here.”

The walk there takes less time than the walk here did. Or perhaps he’s so high in the clouds
that time really holds no meaning anymore. He’s loose like this, giggly and confident enough
to tell the girl he saw earlier that he likes her dress. He whispers in her ear, “Where did you
get it?”

“Harrods,” she replies with wide brown eyes. There’s a sheen of sweat all over her skin. “I
don’t remember the brand or store… Wanna check the tag? Are you gonna buy it for
someone?”

“Yes,” Regulus tells her, not bothering to check the tag. “Myself, I think.”

But she doesn’t hear the last part. Fabian has him by the wrist, and he lets himself be pulled
through the mess of couches and intoxicated socialites. He’s chatty when he’s this high and
drunk. There are no consequences. Who cares if someone doesn’t want to talk to him? There
are a hundred other people in this club, if not more. And there are no nasty voices in his head
that sound like his mother’s and tell him keep quiet, don’t say a word, they’re all waiting for
you to slip up.

No, he is so free here that it’s unbelievable.

The dance floor is packed wall to wall with bodies. Fabian seems content to drift on the
fringes, but Regulus shakes his head. “The middle,” he says, leaning up on tiptoes to shout
the words into Fabian’s ear. “You should always go to the middle. It’s better!”

“Then I’ll follow you.”

Under normal circumstances, this would be his worst nightmare come to life. He hates to
have this many people touching him at one time. Too much sweat and body glitter and lotion
and perfume. Too much of a drink sloshed down his front and an elbow in his ribs and an
unrecognizable face in front of his before shit, sorry, thought you were my friend.

But they make it to the middle in one piece, and Regulus turns to find Fabian holding a small,
clear packet between thumb and forefinger.

“Is that yours?” asks Regulus, leaning in close. It’s loud, the bass heavy behind his ribs.
“Yeah. Figured I’d let Dolohov run through his first.” Fabian smirks. “But it’s just me and
you, so how does a bump sound?”

“Fucking brilliant.”

Regulus dips his finger in the tiny packet. It’s the same size as the one Rodolphus gave him
in Paris. A near identical match. But this time, he doesn’t flush it. This time, he sniffs a little
bit of powder, that little bump he needs to keep going, and grins with all of his teeth. “Dance
with me?”

“Absofuckinglutely.”

He missed this. He didn’t realize he missed it because he had convinced himself he couldn’t
have it, but now that he does? It’s like coming home. Like stepping through the front door
into a dimly lit foyer and shouting for family. And here comes your childhood dog, excited
and wagging its tail, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its gray now, clinging on to its last few
years, but that’s okay, because you’re finally home again and everything is good.

Regulus doesn’t care who he dances with. Fabian keeps him close with strong hands on his
hips and a mouth on his throat, but every once in a while someone else joins. A girl appears
in front of him and he lets her come close. He’s never cared for women in a practical sense,
but a piece of him burns with envy in a way he’s never felt before when he runs his hands
over soft curves. Grazes past the hem of a too short dress and down to soft, slender thighs.

What’s it like to be you?

The thought comes suddenly, unbidden, but before Regulus can dwell on it, the girl is gone.
Pulled back into a circle by her friends, and Regulus forgets she was ever there at all.

He turns in Fabian’s arms and loops his own around Fabian’s neck to pull him down. He’s hot
from head to toe, heart racing like a jack rabbit in his chest. Sweat coats his skin. A knee slips
between his thighs, and their dancing turns less rhythmic as Regulus rocks against the man
under him.

What are you doing ride it James we can’t we can do whatever we want break the rules a
little.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, damn it.

Regulus swears in a low, filthy stream, and it has nothing to do with Fabian’s obvious interest
pressed against his hip. He needs another bump before the crash comes. Like a bird soaring
high but suddenly so much heavier and struggling to keep itself in the air—that’s what he is.

But before he can open his mouth to ask, Fabian says with lips on his ear, “My brother just
texted me. We’re gonna head out. Tell me I can take you with me. I’d give anything to fuck
you.”

“Anything?”
“Anything.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Regulus grins from ear to ear. “Then show me what you’ve got.”

They leave the Alleyway together, squeezed into a single taxi. They have to pull seats down
in the back and even then, Regulus finds himself in Fabian’s lap so Caradoc has room to
squeeze between them and Gideon. The stench of cigarette smoke and sweat clings to their
skin.

“Chelsea,” Kingsley tells the driver, and Regulus’ heart trips an errant rhythm.

He hasn’t been to Kingsley’s flat in years. He swore he’d never go back after last time, when
Barty and Evan appeared at Kingsley’s front door after five a.m., spitting fire and furious that
no one had called to tell them Regulus was too strung out to get home on his own.

It hits him then—the paranoia. His nerves crawl under his skin, wriggling just beneath the
surface, and his breath comes in short, panicked gasps until Fabian jostles him gently.

“Hey, you good?”

“Fine.”

He’s not, but Caradoc has a tiny clear packet of white powder that he passes to Regulus.
Here, this’ll help. It won’t—he’s done too much and run too far away from that first initial
pleasure—but the alternative is a head on collision with rock bottom, so he does the bump
anyway.

The clock on the dash reads 2:07 a.m.

Hours. He’s lost fucking hours. Not that he really cares. Getting lost was the whole point,
wasn’t it?

He reaches for his phone, shoving his hand around in his front pocket. The taxi is too loud,
full of voices volleying to be heard first. He hits the side button on his phone.

2%.

Shit. Will he ever charge the damn thing before he goes out? But it’s the little red notification
bubble on the Phone app that catches his attention.

213 Missed Calls.

He makes a wounded noise when he sees the red bubble on his WhatsApp—he has twice the
number of text messages. The latest is from 1:46 a.m.

Lily
Please just let one of us know you’re okay.

He stares at his phone until the battery drops to 1%, and then the screen goes black. Frantic,
he holds the power button until the dimly lit battery symbol appears. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m
so fucking sorry. Just let me tell them I’m okay.

His phone doesn’t come back to life.

“It’s dead,” he mumbles, his tongue thick in his mouth. “My phone. It died.”

“I’ve got chargers,” Kingsley says easily. “Don’t worry about it.”

I’m sorry I’m so sorry.

He looks at each of the men he’s bundled himself into a taxi with. Is he really back here? His
heart beats too fast for it to be normal. Didn’t he get away from all of this years ago? The free
liquor and drugs and nights he couldn’t remember, except in bits and pieces? He doesn’t
know where he is. He’s high off his ass, well past drunk, and his phone is dead.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit—

“Hey, are you alright?” Fabian brushes an errant curl from his forehead. It sticks stubbornly
to his skin, damp with sweat. “You look like you’re about to have a panic attack. Do you
want me to open the window?”

No. He needs to text Barty. Evan. Lily. Pandora. Dorcas. Marlene. How many hours have
passed since he sat on the train and put all of them on mute in the pursuit of insanity? It all
just hurt so fucking much.

And he felt so damn good—for a while, at least. But now there’s a part of him that wants to
curl up in a ball on the dirty taxi floor and cry. Let it all out in a flood until he has nothing left
to give.

¿Pasa algo, Princess? Warm and low. Sweet as honey.

“No,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. There were no texts from James. The message
thread was gone.

Miss me already? This is what you wanted. I’m leaving you alone like you asked.

He scrambles for his phone, stubbornly holding the button on the side. “Come on, come on,”
he mutters, desperation mounting in tandem with his paranoia. Is James even awake? It’s
three in the morning in Paris. If he’s still in Paris.

Maybe he’s done exactly what Regulus has and found a way to take his mind off the way his
heart keeps ripping itself into smaller and smaller pieces. What if Regulus calls and a woman
answers? Or a man he doesn’t recognize? Does he really want confirmation that James
decided to bury himself in someone else to chase Regulus out of his head?

No, he doesn’t. But he also wants to hear James’ voice. Just once. Even if it’s a groggy hello
or a startled why are you calling me? Anything would be better than nothing.

Except his phone is dead.

And he deleted James’ number.

“Fuck.” He pockets his phone and tries to shove all of his emotions back in their box. He was
having fun, damn it. When did he drift so far back into dangerous territory? To Caradoc, he
asks, “Where’d the packet go?”

“Oh. Dunno,” Caradoc says, eyes glassy. He blinks furiously but it does little to clear the
haze. He mixed too much, which means he’s one of Kingsley’s new ones. No one has told
him yet how to manage it all. “Handed it to you and then… Yeah, sorry. Dunno.”

Regulus swears, but the taxi comes to a jolting stop before he can ask someone else. Then it’s
all eight of them piled out onto the pavement to follow Kingsley into a high rise building.

His flat is on the top floor, but it isn’t nearly as fancy or large as James’. There are tall
windows along one wall, and luxurious modern light fixtures dangle from high ceilings. It’s a
cold, professionally furnished flat in industrial colors of gray, black, and the occasional
cream. There’s no warmth, no trinkets brought from home. No soft blankets thrown over the
back of the couch or throw pillows that don’t match.

Someone turns on the stereo system. It’s a song Regulus has danced to at the club before. He
passes his phone to Caradoc, who plugs it in on the kitchen counter, then lets Fabian pull him
into the living room to dance. Kingsley crafts cocktails behind a small bar, shelves lined with
liquor behind him.

“I thought we were going to go back to your hotel,” Regulus says, swaying to the slow beat.
“This is not your hotel.”

“No, but it’s nicer than my hotel.”

Regulus hums under his breath. “Guess so. But we’re not alone.”

“Give it some time.”

Someone hands him a cocktail with a thin black straw plopped in it. He sips, unsure what
he’ll find, but it’s another vodka cranberry. He hums again, pleased, and closes his eyes to the
rest of the room. All he wants is to dance for a little while. It’s nice to be away from the push
and pull of sweaty bodies. Here, it’s only him and Fabian, who seems content to let him
decide how this goes.
Eventually, Kingsley cuts more lines on his coffee table. Antonin and Amycus are already
passed out on one end of the couch, mouths hanging open and drinks forgotten. Caradoc
plucks the glasses from their hands before they can spill liquor all over Kingsley’s pristine,
cream-colored couch.

“Here, Reg,” Gideon says after a while, offering a narrow straw instead of a rolled up bank
note. “Have the last one.”

Regulus stops dancing. He blinks, dumbfounded, and realizes Kingsley and Caradoc are
gone. When did they leave? Where did they go? He opens his mouth to ask, but the words
don’t come. The floor tilts when he walks, and nothing rights itself until he collapses on the
sofa.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters with a put upon sigh. “Where did—Kingsley and Caradoc? Where
did they go?”

“Wherever the hell it is they like to go when they want to be alone.” Fabian kneels in front of
the coffee table and snatches the straw from Gideon’s fingertips. “I don’t care. I just don’t
want to sleep yet.”

Gideon laughs, but it’s distant. “So what’ll it be? Lines until the sun comes up?”

“Fuck no.” Fabian sits back on his heels and wipes his nose. “I’m reaching my limit. Aren’t
you?”

“No,” Regulus says, leaning forward to take the straw. He doesn’t care that the question was
directed at Gideon. He’s back to feeling like a bird in flight but suddenly weighed down.
“You still wanna fuck me, or are you too tired to get it up now?”

Fabian sputters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “This one’s no bullshit,” he explains to
Gideon, as if this clears up anything at all.

“I can appreciate that.”

Regulus falls back against the couch, shaking his head as he sniffs. He’s not sure when he’ll
stop. He could chase this high for another five hours. But he needs something else, something
different, and Fabian watches him with a heavy-lidded, dark gaze.

He slides off the couch to the floor and crawls into Fabian’s lap first, kissing him slowly as
the high kicks in. It’s not as good as it was, but it’ll do for now. He lets Fabian tug the crop
top off, then tilts his head back to give better access to his throat. When he opens his eyes, it’s
to find Gideon watching them.

“So what is it?” Regulus teases, buoyed by the high and snippier because of it. “You get off
on watching?”

“No.”

“Participating?”
“Not exactly.”

Regulus narrows his eyes. “Quit acting like this is a game of fucking riddles. It’s just sex.”

Fabian chuckles, one hand working the buttons and zipper of Regulus’ cargo pants.
“Sometimes we share. Take turns. But only if you’re into that.”

“So that’s how it goes?” Regulus asks, his focus on Gideon while Fabian peppers kisses
down his chest.

“That’s how it goes,” Gideon replies with a nonchalant shrug.

Regulus simply grins and says, “Brilliant.”

There are two sets of hands on him, but he’s too lust drunk to pay much attention to who they
belong to. The hands on his hip urge him to bear down, to find friction. Then a third hand
trips over his chest and down, down, down to wrap around his cock through his briefs. A
fourth tugs at his hair, urging him to tilt his head back.

“We’ll take care of you,” one of the twins says in his ear. “It’ll be a good time. Promise.”

Regulus almost scoffs. Nearly counters, I’ve had the best, so I really doubt that, but he
doesn’t have the wherewithal. He wants to let go, and they’re offering him the chance. So he
says, “Maybe, but I don’t like when men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Want us to prove it to you then?” asks Fabian, licking over the bruises he’s made on
Regulus’ throat.

“You can try.”

It’s a challenge. Bait dangled to see if they’ll bite. Regulus is a master at this. He’s offered
them a fantasy, shown a part of himself that he knows they’ll like so he can take what he
wants.

Hook, line, and sinker.

This is how he finds himself in a guest bedroom riding Fabian, with his hands braced behind
him on strong thighs and his head thrown back. It feels fine. Good enough. Sex is sex, and
it’s not easy to come when you’re this high. But if it’s done half decent, then it isn’t generally
bad. And it isn’t the twins’ fault they don’t know how to turn him inside out. No one does,
except for the man who broke his heart into a thousand tiny pieces and sent him running here
in the first place.

He doesn’t want to think about that. Not now. Not here. Not when Fabian tenses under him,
coming with a strangled groan, and Regulus eases off of him before he’s even finished filling
the condom. Gideon flips him on his back, hauls him to the edge of the bed, and this time it’s
his knees pushed to his chest.

There’s no feeling. No warm treacle dripped between his bones when someone tells him
perfect, baby, everything about you was made for me. Fabian and Gideon don’t say anything
at all. But he’s thankful for it, because it allows him to close his eyes and pretend Gideon is
someone else. Someone familiar, whose body Regulus would give anything to feel against his
own. Always a perfect fit.

But he doesn’t want to think about that either. Even though it’s what he needs to taste the
edge, he tries not to think about what it means that he feels nothing—no real pleasure, no real
enjoyment—when it isn’t James touching him. So he touches himself, eager for this all to be
over so he can sleep, until he gets what he wants.

One of the many things he came here for.

Because when his orgasm rips through him, coupled with too much liquor and coke and a set
of teeth in his shoulder, he finally, finally forgets why he’s here at all.

A hundred tiny gremlins play the entire percussion line of an orchestra in Regulus’ brain. He
squeezes his eyes shut tighter, but it doesn’t help the pounding in his skull. With a defeated
groan, he turns his face into a pillow. The fabric is scratchy, and it smells strange.

Did he fall asleep on James’ couch? It wouldn’t be the first time, though James usually
carries him to bed so he doesn’t wake up with a crick in his neck. But maybe James didn’t
want to disturb him last night. If he was sleeping soundly and dead to the world, James
probably wanted to let him rest.

Regulus groans again when another gremlin hits a kick drum. The pulse behind his temples
beats more violent than before. “Shit,” he breathes, rolling onto his back. Except…

What the hell?

He scrambles to sit up, then yelps when he realizes he’s in a room he doesn’t recognize, in a
bed that isn’t his or James’, with a man beside him and another on the floor. He swears again,
scrambling to make sense of it all. Ripped condom packets, a bottle of lube, the faint smell of
weed.

The night rushes back in pieces—Fabian, Knockturn Alley, lines and lines and lines of coke,
I like your dress, a packed dance floor, too many people in the back of a taxi, Kingsley’s cold
flat decor, and twins taking turns until all three of them finally fell asleep.

“Oh, God,” Regulus whispers, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’s desperate to
ease the ache. His mouth is full of cotton, and his tongue sits heavy and useless behind his
teeth. He needs to leave before anyone wakes up.

Somewhere in the haze of his memories—213 Missed Calls.

Regulus is up and out of bed in record time. There’s a limited window before he feels so
fucking terrible he wants to die. Right now, he has adrenaline to get him moving and out the
door. He’ll have to hope it holds out until he’s home and can collapse on his bathroom floor
for several days.

“Where the fuck are my—Aha.” He snatches his socks off the floor but leaves his tights.
Someone ripped them. He doesn’t need more proof of his bad decisions, so he leaves them in
a messy pile.

He tiptoes as quietly as he can into the living room. His crop top is a puddle of fabric on the
coffee table. He grabs it, wincing at the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat that clings to the
fabric. There’s a mixture of men’s cologne and women’s perfume, too. It’s a top he’ll throw
in the bin once he’s home, but he can’t ride the tube shirtless.

“Shit,” he hisses, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. It’s running—profusely.
Abandoned cocktails have formed condensation rings on the coffee table. A small, clear
plastic baggy with a fine dust of white clinging to its walls sits forgotten near the spot where
Kingsley cut their last lines of the night.

Regulus stills, swallowing despite the razors in his throat. A little rubbed on his gums will get
him through. It’ll get him home. It won’t hit as quickly as when he snorts it, but that’s
perfect. It’ll give him time.

“Damn it. Damn it.” He snatches the little square of plastic, dips his finger inside to run it
along the edge, then rubs it on his gums. Briefly, he considers taking it with him, but there’s
hardly anything left in the baggy worth taking. Instead, he heads for the kitchen to grab his
phone off the charger, doesn’t check to see if his notifications have doubled, and makes a
beeline for the front door.

“Leaving us so soon?”

Regulus freezes with one foot half in his boot. He looks up to find Kingsley watching him
from the end of the short entryway. He leans against the corner, arms and ankles crossed.
He’s shirtless, in nothing but a pair of briefs, and wears that same amused expression he wore
when he first saw Regulus last night.

“I need to go,” Regulus tells him, shoving his foot into his boot. “I shouldn’t have—I need to
go.”

“Or you could stay. Fabian likes you. He’ll be bummed to wake up alone.”

“He’ll be fine.”

Kingsley blows air past his lips. “I shouldn’t be surprised. This is what you do. So what got
you out last night anyway?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m only making conversation.”

“Well, don’t. I want to leave.”

“You’re still welcome any time, Reg. The Alleyway misses you.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, doing up the laces of his second boot. “It’s a nightclub. It doesn’t miss
anyone.”

“Not true. You light that place up. It was so boring without you.”

“Fuck off, Kingsley. Go play with your new toy.” Regulus swears when he realizes he doesn’t
have his jacket. It’s probably still at the club, thrown over the back of the sofa where he left
it. “Look, thanks for the fun night. But I can’t start this shit again. Last time was too… I just
can’t. Okay?”

Kingsley shrugs. He doesn’t move from his place at the end of the corridor. He doesn’t try to
stop Regulus from walking out the front door. Instead, he says, “I’ll see you later, Reg. You
never could stay away for long.”

Regulus doesn’t respond. He slips out the front door and heads down the hall to the lift as fast
as his feet will carry him. His whole body aches, and his brain feels like someone’s dipped it
in sludge then asked it to run a marathon. He can barely think enough to press the button for
the ground floor.

This was always his least favorite part: the comedown. It’s what usually led him to stumble
out of someone’s bed or roll off of an unfamiliar couch and cut a small line on his own. He’s
still waiting for the little bit he rubbed on his gums to take the edge off.

The sun is too damn bright. He’s starving, and in desperate need of something to drink. He
stumbles into the nearest Pret and mumbles his order to the girl behind the counter. He’s too
disorientated to make sense of what he said to her, but she seems to understand.

He won’t be himself again for days. Maybe weeks. It’s unpredictable, and he doesn’t know
exactly how much coke he binged. But he does know he’ll sleep on and off for days. There
will be nightmares, though. He’ll wake up at odd hours in cold sweats, or in the lowest of
lows he’s ever felt.

“Fucking idiot,” he mumbles. God, what was he thinking? But even as he berates himself, he
craves moremoremore to offset the oncoming low that will hit like a lorry driven over him at
max speed.

His coffee helps enough for him to plan a route home. He huddles in a corner of the train,
knees drawn up to his chest and paper cup clutched tight. His heart still races even though
he’s not moving. Sweat beads on his brow. God, he hates this part.

A baby cries nearby, and he flinches at the onslaught of a sudden, piercing noise. More drums
behind his eyes. Across the aisle, a group of teenage girls giggle and laugh in loud bursts.
The paranoia eating at him worries that they’re laughing at him, but then the drums take over
and he doesn’t care. He just wants a dark place, somewhere safe and warm and far from here.

It’s an hour, a day, an entire fucking year before he stumbles out of the train and onto the
platform at his station. His phone sits heavy in his back pocket. He still hasn’t checked his
notifications. But what would he say to his friends at this point?

I’m sorry for disappointing you all—again.

No, he’s not really in the mood for that.

It takes him a while to realize the bit of coke he rubbed on his gums has kicked in. The
pounding in his head isn’t as drastic, and his steps come easier. Alright, he can do this.
Maybe this is how he’ll handle the comedown—a little at a time just to ease the drop. Not too
much, but maybe if he texts Fabian then—

Regulus freezes at the end of the walkway leading to his flat. He nearly drops his coffee cup
on the pavement. The bottom of his stomach falls out, then plummets through several layers
of the earth’s crust.

Waiting on his front stoop are Barty and Lily. The former sits on the stairs with his head in
his hands, and the latter leans against Regulus’ front door with her face tilted towards the
morning sun. Barty’s hair sticks up in every direction like he’s run his fingers through it a
thousand times and pulled at all of the strands. There are dark circles under Lily’s eyes.

“Oh,” Regulus whispers, but it’s loud enough to catch their attention.

Barty’s head snaps up at breakneck speed. He takes in Regulus’ appearance, surveying him
from head to toe. Although Regulus hasn’t dared to look at his reflection since he woke up,
he knows from the shift in Barty’s expression that it’s really, really bad.

He swallows, sniffling. His nose hasn’t stopped running since he woke up. Unsure of what
else to say, he opts for a softly spoken, “Hey.”

Apparently, it was the wrong choice.

“Hey? Hey?” Barty is on his feet instantly, and Regulus flinches at the fury in his tone. “Is
that really all you have to say? ‘Hey’?! Where the fuck have you been, Reg?”

“Out,” he answers meekly.

“Out.”

Regulus nods slowly. This entire conversation is already ruining the high that helped alleviate
the pounding in his skull. “I just… I had to get out for a while. You know?”

“No the fuck I do not know.” Barty barks a sharp, humorless laugh. “Do you have any idea
how worried we’ve been? You went silent, Reg. Completely fucking silent. Locations off,
texts delivered but unread.”

“I didn’t want you to find me.”

“Because you’re a selfish fucking—”

Lily lays a hand on Barty’s arm. “Barty. Don’t. Don’t make it worse.”
“How much worse can it get?! They’re still high, Lils. I can see it. You’re jittery as shit, Reg.
How’s the paranoia? Bet that’s fun.”

“Barty,” Lily snaps, squeezing his arm in a death grip. “Enough.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her. “Evan is still out looking for you, if you care. Pretty sure we
spent a grand each just trying every club we could think of. We were out until five in the
fucking morning, Reg. So where—the fuck—were you?”

“Out,” he says again, gripping his bicep until his nails leave crescent moons in his skin. “The
Alleyway.”

“You promised you’d never go back there.”

“Well, I lied. Because I did.”

Barty makes a strangled noise. “Kingsley?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, Reg. Did you decide to skip ‘Minor Breakdown’ and go straight for ‘Absolutely
Fucking Nuclear’? Just tell me he didn’t—Tell me you didn’t—”

“No,” Regulus says quickly, shaking his head. “Not with him. No. I wouldn’t. I promise.”

“Your promises mean fuck all right now, but okay.” Barty pulls out his phone, then puts it to
his ear. He keeps his gaze locked on Regulus when he says, “Ev? Yeah, I’ve got them. No.
They’re high as shit, but in one piece.”

“I’m not that high.” Regulus snaps his mouth shut when Barty shoots him a scathing look.

Lily beckons him with a gentle wave as Barty finishes his conversation with Evan. She
smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Come on, Reggie. I’ll make you breakfast. What do
you want? Eggs? Beans on toast? Pancakes?”

“No pancakes,” he says hurriedly. “Eggs are fine. Maybe some toast.”

He lets them in his flat, then toes off his boots by the front door. His friends follow him in
silence to the kitchen, where Barty takes in the sight of his floor covered in tiny Lego pieces.

“Shit, Reg,” he murmurs. “What the hell happened in Paris?”

“Tea first. Please. Or it’ll be tequila that I reach for.”

Lily makes him a cup, then whisks several eggs in a bowl while he tells them the details of
his trip—from Rodolphus in the bathroom to James’ broken I love you to flushing the cocaine
down the toilet to finding Sirius’ name in James’ phone. He doesn’t want to relive all of this
after a night spent trying to forget it. He wishes they weren’t here. He is so fucking grateful
they’re here. All he wants is to take a shower and crawl under a weighted blanket.
When he’s finished with his story, the kitchen is heavy with weighted silence. Lily stands
frozen, whisk held over the bowl and egg dripping from the ends. Barty leans against the
kitchen island with an unreadable expression.

It isn’t until he pushes off the counter that the tension snaps. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he
finally says. “I mean it. Like, I’m actually going to—shit balls fuck goddamn it!”

Regulus startles, and Lily whirls around with her whisk raised.

“Stepped on a goddamn Lego,” Barty seethes, rubbing the arch of his foot. “Reg, where’s
your broom? This kitchen is a fucking lawsuit.”

“Closet down the hall.”

“Jesus Christ, that hurt like a bitch.” Barty’s voice trails off until he reappears in the kitchen
armed with a broom and dust pan. “Right. As I was saying. I’m going to kill James. Slowly.
With several ancient torture devices and perhaps a bear.”

Lily snorts from where she carefully cooks scrambled eggs. “Where are you going to get a
bear?”

“I’ll make him buy it. The rich bastard can use his black card to purchase a giant black bear
that I will then feed him to in pieces.”

“Creative.”

“One of my shining attributes.” Barty sweeps Lego pieces into a pile, careful not to step on
any more in the process. “Look, Reg,” he says, bending down to get under the table. “I’m
gonna need you to be honest with me. I know you relapsed.”

Regulus scoffs. “It wasn’t a relapse. I’m not a—”

“Seriously? We’re gonna do this shit again?” Barty straightens, glaring from across the
dining table. “Two years, Reg. You just blew two years of sobriety and you’re going to look
me in the eye and tell me that wasn’t a relapse?”

“It wasn’t a relapse. I’m not an addict.”

“And I’m the Queen of fucking England. Are we done telling lies, or should I keep going?”

“Barty,” Lily warns, plopping pieces of bread into Regulus’ toaster. “Don’t.”

“I’m serious, Lils! This is exactly what happened last time. They go to a few NA meetings,
decide for themselves they’re ‘fine’—whatever the fuck that means when your parents are
Walbitch and Onion—and then this. After two years!” Barty shakes his head. He returns to
sweeping the kitchen free of errant Lego pieces. “This is why you were supposed to have a
sponsor, Reg. Someone you could call.”

Regulus scowls, blowing over the surface of his tea to cool it. “I didn’t need a therapist.”
“That’s not what a sponsor is! God, did you even pay attention in those meetings?”

“It was stupid for me to be there! Those people had real problems. I was a disinherited heir
who missed their big brother. Who cares?!”

“We care!” Barty sweeps a pile of Legos too aggressively, and they scatter all over the
kitchen again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why are there so many?”

Lily sets a plate in front of Regulus, then sits beside him at the head of the table with her
own. “That’s the first time you’ve admitted it to us, you know.”

“Admitted what?”

“That you miss Sirius.”

Regulus goes deathly still. “I don’t miss him.”

“You know what? Maybe now I want to be Joan of Arc since our lies are becoming more
ridiculous,” Barty deadpans, kicking Legos into a pile.

Lily shoots him a pointed look before turning her attention back to Regulus. “You’ve been a
mess about Sirius since you were fourteen. No amount of drugs or alcohol is going to change
that, Reggie. But you can.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m not saying talk to him. I’m saying you need to get help. Real help this time. Not the two
months’ worth of meetings you did a few years ago before you decided you were fine.”

“You never even spoke during those meetings!” Barty says, throwing his hands in the air.
“How do you know your problems weren’t real? Did you even try?”

No. He didn’t.

He didn’t think he belonged there, and after two months away from the nightclubs and
endless supply of liquor and drugs, he really did feel fine. He craved the weightless, limitless
feeling sometimes, but by then he had his new job at Riddle’s strip club, he was back on track
with his studies, and he had found an interest in Legos that kept him from dwelling on how
much easier it would all be if he was high.

“You didn’t learn how to manage your shit, Reg,” Barty continues. He ignores Lily’s
insistence that he sit and eat. “You need actual therapy for the shit that happened to you
growing up. Like, someone to tell you how your parents fucked you up and how to deal with
it.”

“I partied for one night and did some coke because I got my heart broken. Why are you
making this a big deal?”

“Because normal people with their shit together don’t do what you did! They buy too much
ice cream, or cry until their eyes are swollen shut. They call their friends to come over and
tell them the guy fucking sucks and you deserve better. Normal people don’t need to go on
cocaine binges, Reg. They don’t sleep with strangers less than twenty-four hours after their
breakup.”

Regulus pokes at his eggs. He’s starving, but the words coming out of Barty’s mouth make
him too nauseous to eat.

“I get that James broke your heart,” Lily says in a voice much gentler than Barty’s. “And
we’re angry for you. But you made the choice to go out last night and break your sobriety.
And this time around, you need to own that. At some point, you have to stop blaming
everyone else.” She pauses, weighing her next words with careful consideration. Then, “Even
your brother.”

Regulus pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin between them. He continues to poke
aimlessly at his eggs. There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes burn. He’s not sure if
these sniffles are from the cocaine. “I hate that I still care about him.”

“Who? Sirius?”

“Yeah. I never told him ‘I love you.’ Do you know that? Fourteen years, and I never said
those words to my own brother. Not that I can remember, anyway.” His friends don’t answer,
so he keeps talking. The words pour out of him in a way they never have. “We used to sit on
the roof and talk for hours. He would always say, ‘Goodnight, Reggie. I love you,’ and I
would say, ‘Goodnight, Sirius.’ Nothing else. Just that.”

Regulus moves his eggs around on his plate. He aches right down to the marrow in his bones.
“Do you think he would’ve come back for me if I’d said ‘I love you’ at least once? I wonder
sometimes. If maybe he thought I didn’t care and that’s why—”

“It still isn’t an excuse for him to leave the way he did,” Barty argues.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I couldn’t say it to James, either. And look at how we ended up.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Regulus repeats. His voice is lifeless. Empty and hollow. “But I
couldn’t say it when it mattered. I never can. And then people leave. That’s the cycle. Which
is fine. I get it. No one wants to stick around if they don’t know whether or not they’re
loved.”

A frown creases Lily’s forehead. “You’re not making sense, Reg.”

“Because I’m coked out of my mind and exhausted, Lils. So fucking exhausted.” Regulus
buries his face between his knees. He can feel it coming. This is a battle he fought well but
will lose regardless. “I need to figure out if I love him enough to forgive him. Because right
now, all I know is that I love him so much it hurts. And I don’t think love is supposed to
hurt.”

“Forgive who, Reggie?”

 “I don’t know,” he admits.

He never hated his brother and he misses him all of the time. He hates that he let himself fall
in love with James and won’t crawl out of this hole the same person he was before. Two
different sides of the spectrum but they’re tearing him apart just the same.

“I think I wanna sleep, Lils,” he says weakly. His voice cracks; it’s the first break of many. “I
need to sleep for a really, really long time. Maybe a few days. Thank you for breakfast, but I
—I think—And I’m so fucking sorry. I know it wasn’t the right choice, but it all hurt so
much, and I—”

Lily moves to sit in the chair beside him. She loops an arm around his shoulders and pulls
him close. She smells of lavender and incense, of the flat she shares with Pandora. “It’s
okay,” she says, squeezing him gently. “You’re okay. We’re not angry or disappointed. We
were just worried. You scared us. But it’s okay, Reggie. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

For the first time since it all came crumbling down, Regulus lets himself cry.

Chapter End Notes

i'm happy to report that we've reached absolute rock bottom, so the only way to go from
here is up — which means there's a light at the end of the tunnel! it's faint (like a speck),
but we're no longer headed into darkness. yay? i have so much to say about this chapter
but it's almost midnight which means i'm supposed to publish it which makes me
incredibly anxious because rock bottom chapters — when the angst is at its WORST —
always make me itchy. like "don't worry, it's bad now but it'll get better!"

die! actually!😀
Regulus flirting with someone who isn't James makes me want to curl up in a ball and
i mean proud of them for being a flirtatious little menace but not with

really got for them before Barty & Evan pulled them out 😭
Fabian not with Fabian not with— ugh. truly. and the hints at how dark that summer
my favorite way to write
Regulus is secretive, even to the reader. we know things, but we don't know everything.
in part because Regulus hides bits and pieces from themself too, and we're in their head.
but it was a dark time. much darker than Reg hinted at in Milan.

James they could never make me hate you they just don't know you like i do 😔
the scene! in the taxi! in the car! with the flashback! to James! I MISS HIMMMMMM
but god
it hurts. the flashbacks make me want to say "jk they're actually so happy skip all of the
character development and growth here's your HEA" i would never but i miss Jegulus
being Jegulus goddamn it

Ch. 15 Regulus to James: "You understand your promises mean nothing, right?"

😔
Ch. 17 Barty to Regulus: "Your promises mean fuck all right now, but okay."
GOOOD GOD I DO LOVE A PARALLEL
and last but not least because my laptop is at 3% — Lily. just Lily. telling Reg they're
safe and cooking them breakfast and being that little bit of calm in Barty's storm bc she
knows that all Regulus really wants to do is breakdown and be alone and she says "it's

😀 😀
okay we're not mad you're safe" and then for the first time since this all went down
Regulus cries and i'm fine actually

RIGHT WELL i hope you enjoyed this one <3 it was Long and Angsty and it took a lot
out of me, but i'm happy with it and i hope you liked it. it's uphill from here! a bit of a
battle for Reggie, but they're better off for it. trust me.

see ya in the next one and thank you for all of the love <3 i read every comment and
appreciate them!!!

also pls go see the amazing art Nana did of Reg’s pictures that they sent to James after

🥹
Singapore <3 it’s linked as a related fic down below! they’re STUNNING and i’m
obsessed
 sunset in the maze
Chapter Summary

i miss my brother like

the sea would miss salt
if that were taken away
— Emma Cameron, Cinnamon Rain

Chapter Notes

a mini-playlist for this one:

- right where you left me — Taylor Swift
- Family Line — Conan Gray
- seven — Taylor Swift
- Brother — Madds Buckley
- Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) — Kate Bush

okay this chapter made me question my own existence many, many times, so it's heavily
dedicated to Danielle, who talked me off the ledge and helped me get through it. special
mentions to Kelsey, Mads, and Kay, who all held my hand through multiple imposter
syndrome and writer's block moments this last week and a half. all of my love to all of
you <3

i hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The comedown is awful.

Regulus barely sleeps for days. He experiences bouts of intense anxiety followed by the
lowest of lows. Both render him useless; he curls into a tight ball underneath a heavy blanket
for hours at a time. His curtains remain closed, and he rarely turns on any lights.

On the first day, after he forces breakfast down at Lily’s insistence, he sits in the corner of his
shower under the warm spray, his cheek pressed against cool tile walls, and stares into space
without blinking. Everything hurts from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and
toes.
He only stumbled home an hour or so ago, but regret already suffocates him. This is the
endless cycle—bad decisions coupled with the grim truth that they happened coupled with a
desperate need to forget who he is. To be someone who isn’t this mess of a person but is
instead flying high. Untouchable. On top of the world rather than curled up on the shower
floor.

The inside of his nose burns. His muscles ache. A drum beats steadily behind his eyes. He
wishes he had more coke to take the edge off. He’s glad he doesn’t have more drugs to make
everything worse. He hates his friends for caring so much. He’s grateful they’re still here. His
chest hurts, but this ache has nothing to do with the comedown.

A knock on the door startles him from his thoughts.

“Reg, come on,” says Barty, his voice muffled. “Don’t fall asleep in there. I gotta get going,
but Lily is gonna stay. You okay?”

“I’m awake,” Regulus croaks, struggling to his feet. “And I’m fine. Thanks. See you later.”

The water eventually runs cold. He scrubs his skin raw in order to wash the night and his
regrets down the drain. There’s sweat on his skin that isn’t his. Dried and crusted lube on the
insides of his thighs. He grimaces when he sees fading bite marks and fingerprint-shaped
bruises. These aren’t from James, who was too tender in Paris to leave remnants of himself
behind.

Scrubbing isn’t enough. Regulus needs to peel the skin off his bones.

When he steps out of the shower, he avoids looking at his reflection. He keeps his gaze
downturned, reaching blindly for products lined up on the counter. The monotony of a
familiar routine helps ease some of his anxiety. It’s a reminder that he’s still Regulus. He’s
still here. He’s not sure yet whether this is a comfort or a curse, but for now, it simply is.

He slips into an oversized university shirt and briefs before stepping out of his bathroom.
Despite the late morning sun outside, his room is nearly pitch black. It takes a moment for his
eyes to adjust, but when they do, he sees Lily leaning against his headboard with a book open
in her lap. She looks as exhausted as he feels, but she gives him a small smile.

“You doing alright?” she asks.

“I’m fine. I’m here.”

“That’s what matters.”

Regulus crawls into bed beside her. The only light in the room emanates from the tiny
reading lamp clipped to her book. “Where’s Barty?” he asks.

“Home. Evan is there. I think Barty needs to decompress, but he said he’ll come by later.”

“He’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“No, he’s not. He just cares. And you know he operates in extremes. He’s manic when he’s
happy. Depressed when he’s sad. Nuclear when he’s angry…” Lily fidgets with the hem of
her shorts. “He was downright terrified last night. You scared us all pretty bad. He just needs
a minute to breathe. I think you both do. But everything will be fine in the end.”

Regulus slips under the heavy blanket Lily laid out on top of his duvet. It’s weighted, and he
could kiss her for it. He’ll be anxious for days; he always is no matter how pure the drugs.
Even now, his pulse pounds in his ears with a constant undercurrent of panic he can’t shake.
But the blanket steadies him. He can breathe easier.

“Do you want me to read to you?” asks Lily gently, reaching out to flick one of his loopier
curls. It sends little droplets flying all over his pillow. “You shouldn’t sleep with wet hair.
You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’ll be ill the next few days anyway.” Regulus rolls over onto his stomach and squishes his
face into his pillow. He watches Lily out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t wanna go
home?”

“No. And I can’t. We’re going to stay with you in shifts. I’m first.”

“I don’t need babysitters.”

“We’ve done this with you before, Reg. We know how this goes, and so do you.”

She uses her stern, no-room-for-arguments voice. He doesn’t want to admit she’s right, but
beneath the anxiety and full-body aches is an itch he can’t scratch. Not without neat white
lines on a glass tabletop.

You never could stay away for long.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut tight. He won’t be that person a second time. It’s easier to
become someone else, but it was dehumanizing to always feel like meat in a freezer. He
never mattered to anyone. Regardless of what happens, he doesn’t want to go back to that
place. He may not always like himself now, but at least he’s someone who matters.

“Reggie, are you alright?” Lily nudges him gently. “You’re crying.”

“I’m tired. But I’m fine.” He rubs his face in the pillow to wipe the wetness from his skin.
“How long are you guys gonna rotate in shifts?”

“As long as it takes.”

Regulus sighs in acquiescence. This isn’t a fight he’ll win. Besides, he doesn’t have any fight
left in him.

“Do you want me to read to you?” Lily asks again. “It might help you fall asleep.”

“What’re you reading?”

“These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever. I only just started it, but it’s good so far.”
“What’s it about?”

“The seventies and the gays.”

Regulus blows a soft laugh through his nose. He folds his arms underneath his pillow and
makes himself comfortable. There’s little chance fitful sleep will come, but he can hope.
“Yeah, okay. That’d be nice.”

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but one moment Lily’s husky voice narrates a story of
queer university students in 1970s Pittsburgh, and the next, Regulus is pulled under cool
waters and fast asleep.

By midafternoon on Monday, rain pours down in sheets from heavy, dark clouds. Regulus
finds the weather rather appropriate, all things considered.

Today is a day of crippling lows.

Last night, he dreamt of his brother, of James, of his parents. Some were nightmares that left
him so badly shaken Lily stopped reading to wrap herself around him. Some were vivid
enough that they felt like memories, and his chest physically ached when he woke to realize
no, James was not in this bed with him after all.

Lily left sometime after six. Even though she kissed Regulus’ forehead and playfully ruffled
his curls, her green eyes were dull with sorrow. Barty brought dinner, but Regulus refused to
eat; anxiety twisted his stomach into too many knots. He barely left his bed yesterday, and
this morning, Barty had to bodily drag him out from under the covers to shower and eat a
piece of toast.

Unfortunately, the crippling sadness also comes with vicious irritability. He snaps at Barty for
breathing too loud, which earns him a scowl and aggressive middle finger.

“Good morning to you too, you absolute fucking wanker,” Barty mutters, slamming the door
on his way out. He leaves Regulus alone in the darkness of his bedroom, where it’s deadly
quiet except for the rhythmic patter of rain against his windows.

He stares at nothing for hours, unable to sleep but exhausted all the same. His thoughts are a
jumbled mess of memories. He relives moments with James, but even more than that, he
thinks of Sirius. The box he once kept his brother locked inside is fully open now.

Hours pass before his bedroom door cracks open, and a sliver of light from the hall cuts
through the darkness.

“Hey, Reg. You awake?”

“Unfortunately.”
“Are you going to rip my head off for breathing again?”

“Maybe.”

Barty comes around the side of the bed to crouch in front of him. “Evan is coming by in an
hour. He’s gonna bring you some food.”

“Okay.”

“Do you promise to eat it?”

“Yeah.”

“Reg.”

“I promise.” Regulus narrows his eyes, but Barty glares right back. “I’ll eat. Fuck. Relax.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“No.”

Barty blows air past his lips. “Reg.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m just sad. Tired. But I’m fine.”

The frown creasing Barty’s brow deepens. “Have you slept at all?”

“No.”

Barty runs a hand through his hair. The strands stick up in every direction. “You’ve barely
eaten today. And you didn’t eat last night.”

“Not hungry.”

“Reg. C’mon.”

“Barty, I’m fine. Okay?” Perhaps if he says the words enough, he’ll start to believe they’re
true again.

But Barty seems unconvinced. “Do you want me to stay? Because I can stay…”

“No. Riddle will kill you if you miss another night. Just go. I’m—”

“I swear to God, if you say it one more time, I’ll flick you so hard you’ll end up with a
bloody concussion.”

Regulus’ lips twitch of their own accord. “Sorry.”

Barty shakes his head ruefully. Then he leans forward to kiss the crown of Regulus’ head
before getting to his feet. “Let Evan in when he knocks, yeah? You know how he gets when
he’s soaking wet with rain.”

“Bitchy?”

“Bitchy. See ya, Reg. Please eat, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s half past five when three sharp knocks echo through his flat. Reluctantly, he hauls himself
out of bed and shuffles down the hall. All he wants is to be left alone—until he smells fresh
spaghetti and garlic bread, and his stomach growls loud enough to raise Evan’s brows to his
hairline.

“Hiya, Reggie,” he says when Regulus opens the door. Evan holds up a large brown bag
stamped with his parents’ restaurant’s logo. “Brought you dinner.”

Regulus moves out of the way so Evan can come inside. The downpour gradually lessened to
a light sprinkle after Barty left, but by the time Regulus and Evan are silently unloading
various takeout boxes in the kitchen, the rain resumes its assault on the windows.

“Just barely made it,” Evan quips, breaking the tense silence.

Regulus offers a soft grunt of acknowledgement. He stares at the contents of his fridge
without really seeing anything. What is he even looking for?

“How are you feeling? Better? Worse?”

“Fine.”

“Barty said you barely slept last night.”

“Felt like shit for most of it. I was sick a few times.”

Evan grabs cutlery from the drawer beside the sink. “Have you eaten today?”

“Not really.”

“That’s alright. I brought plenty of pasta.”

“Okay.” Regulus grabs two bottles of water and slams the fridge shut.

It isn’t like him and Evan to share stilted conversations, but Regulus doesn’t have the energy.
He also can’t stand to look Evan in the eye any more than he can Barty. Last night, with a
cheek pressed to the cool porcelain of a toilet bowl, he sent £1,000 to each of them. The
money was both an apology and repayment for how much they spent trying to find him on
Saturday night.
“It’s too much, Reg,” Barty had said, frowning at the notification on his phone. “We don’t
need it.”

“Take it anyway.”

“But—”

“Just fucking take it, Barty. Please.”

Barty’s mouth had narrowed to a thin line, his displeasure clear, but he nodded once and let it
go.

“Wanna watch a movie while we eat?” Evan fixes each of them a plate of spaghetti with two
pieces of garlic bread. “There’s some new shit on Netflix. How do you feel about horror?
This is good weather for it.”

“Okay.”

Regulus winces. His voice is lifeless even to his own ears. Evan definitely notices, but he
doesn’t draw attention to it. He simply grabs his water bottle and plate of spaghetti, and heads
for the living room. Regulus trails behind, feeling no better than if someone dropped him in
the ocean with a brick tied around his ankle.

Evan sits on one end of the couch while Regulus sits on the other. He sets his plate of
spaghetti on the arm and pulls his knees close to his chest. It’s a position he finds himself in a
lot since yesterday. If he could shrink himself down into a teeny tiny ball—or maybe even
into nothingness—he would.

He lets Evan pick the movie. He doesn’t have the energy to be particular about it, and he’s
too busy twirling pasta around on his fork to pay much attention.

“You’re supposed to eat the spaghetti,” Evan says flatly, extending his leg to nudge Regulus’
foot with his own. “Come on. Dad made it special for you. The garlic bread, too.”

A sharp pang cuts through Regulus’ chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, shoveling a forkful of
spaghetti in his mouth. Evan doesn’t move his foot, and any time Regulus spaces out for too
long, a gentle nudge reminds him to keep eating.

When he’s done, Evan gathers their plates and disappears into the kitchen. Regulus stretches
across the cushions and pulls a blanket off the back of the couch. It’s one Marlene gifted him
last Christmas. Outside, the downpour worsens, and a gust of wind rattles the windows.

“Seriously, Reg?” Evan sighs when he comes back in the living room. “You’re taking up the
whole sofa.”

“Sit on the chair.”

“No. Make room.”

“Why?”
“Because your flat is cold as shit and that blanket looks warm.”

“Everyone is being very clingy,” Regulus mutters.

“Too bad. Move over.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he shifts so Evan can slide under the blanket and settle behind
him. Their bodies don’t fit right, but the warmth is nice. He won’t admit it out loud, but the
way his friends have taken to curling around him is a comfort rather than an irritation. First it
was Lily when the nightmares took hold. Then it was Barty, who inevitably wound up in
Regulus’ space when they slept.

And now it’s Evan, who rests his chin on Regulus’ head and loops an arm around his waist.

They’re halfway through the second movie when Evan gently says, “Hey, Reg? I’m not mad
at you. No one is. So you don’t have to worry so much about that. Okay?”

Regulus digs his nails into his palms until skin breaks. His throat closes, too full of emotions
he doesn’t have the words for. He only manages a shaky, “Okay,” but Evan seems content
with this.

In the end, they watch three movies. None are very good, but that’s alright. The storm
continues as the evening stretches on. Eventually, Regulus falls asleep to the sound of rain on
the window and Evan’s gentle snores in his ear.

“Reg, you can’t sit here all night. Please get up.”

“No. If I move, I’m going to walk right out the door, get on a train to King’s Cross, and go to
the Alleyway. So I’m not moving from this spot.”

Regulus sits cross-legged on the floor between his coffee table and the TV, surrounded by
hundreds of tiny Lego pieces. His head is full of James today, which doesn’t bode well. The
jumper he pulled out of his closet this morning still smelled of home. Regulus shoved his
face in the soft fabric, breathing deep. But then he remembered, and the hurt and anger stole
the air from his lungs.

Pandora lent him a pair of pale blue camisole shorts she brought with her to spend the night,
and he managed to scrounge up a university shirt from the depths of his closet. The rest of his
clothes went through one hell of a wash day in order to rid them of that sandalwood and
citrus smell.

But the damage was already done.

Some hours ago, he decided to organize the mess of Lego pieces Barty had swept into a
haphazard pile. They’ve sat in two clear freezer bags on his kitchen table for days. When
Regulus begged Barty to throw it all out, Barty simply replied, No. Your breakup, your
bullshit. Throw out your own damn Legos.

Regulus couldn’t.

Can’t.

It’s Thursday now, and Regulus can’t move from his spot on the floor. There are memories in
these tiny pieces, and each one turns him inside out mercilessly. He’s supposed to hate James,
to be so furious that nothing else matters except the rage. And Regulus is angry; he’s too hurt
not to be. But he would be lying if he said this is hatred.

The truth is that he misses James so much more than he hates him.

He misses the tickle on his shoulder of a mumbled buenos días, that wicked grin a promise as
James disappeared under the covers. He misses soft kisses to the center of his brow to ease
the furrow. He misses lying with his cheek pillowed on James’ thigh as fingers brushed
through his hair, warm and familiar.

With every Lego he organizes into tidy piles, he feels the ghost of familiar fingers trailing the
backs of his thighs. Of a thumb’s gentle caress on his cheek before it shifts to slip between
his lips. As much as Regulus appreciates his friends, he would give anything for the comfort
of a touch that isn’t platonic. No other is quite the same now that he knows what it’s like to
be touched as though he’s precious.

He wants to forget. The memories are crushing him, but Barty poured the rest of his tequila
down the drain. Not gonna watch you become an alcoholic, too, he’d said, screwing up his
face as the pungent smell hit his nose. No substances, Reg. Deal with your shit.

Regulus is decidedly not dealing with his shit. Not even a little bit.

Dorcas kneels next to him, then shifts to sit cross-legged. It’s her night to stay with him;
Pandora left an hour ago. Her knee touches his, warm and solid. “If you won’t get up, then
I’ll sit here with you.”

“No, you don’t—”

“Are you done organizing the Legos?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No. But I don’t know if I can keep going.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“It’s my mess. I should fix it.”

Dorcas flicks a long braid off her shoulder and sighs. “Reg, let me help. Please?” She nudges
him gently with her elbow. “Are you organizing them in a specific way?”

“They come in bags,” he explains, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. They keep
filling with tears, but he refuses to let them overflow. “When you buy big sets like this, they
make it really organized. That way you do it a little at a time and don’t need to sort through a
bunch of pieces.”

“Alright, then. Scoot over so I can grab from the pile.”

Regulus doesn’t.

“Reg, if you let me help you, we can be done faster. Then you can put it away and not have to
think about it anymore. How about we make cookies later? Marlene can come over. I think
Lily and Pandora are free. It’ll be fun. A proper girls’ night. What do you think?”

It pleases some part of him to be included in their inner circle. Barty and Evan are never
invited to girls’ nights. To be spiteful, they have guys’ nights, which Regulus is also invited
to. One foot on either side—or maybe neither side at all.

He doesn’t tell Dorcas how he feels, even though she would listen and be excited for him.
She’d say something like, Of course you’re one of us, if you wanna be. But the truth is, he
wants to share this small euphoria with James more than anyone else. If he tells Dorcas, all
he’ll feel is an ache for the way James would grin from ear to ear, so proud and fond
whenever Regulus shared these moments like coveted secrets.

He understands James is gone but that his own journey is still ongoing. It’s a road he was
navigating before James, and it’s a road he’ll continue traveling for the rest of his life. He
doesn’t have to weather the bumps and curves of it alone, but for right now, he wants to keep
it to himself. At least until he stops missing the little things James did to validate him.

“Okay,” Regulus finally says, scooting over so Dorcas can easily reach for the pile in front of
them. He hands her the instructions and nods to a short line of smaller, neater piles. “Those
are finished. The booklet will tell you which pieces belong in which bags. It’s easy. But also
time consuming. Can we make chocolate chip?”

“We can make whatever you want. I’ll tell Marls to grab the stuff on her way over.”

Later, Regulus sits cross-legged on his kitchen island with a giant metal bowl in his lap. He
runs his finger through liquid chocolate before plopping the digit on his tongue. When he
goes back for seconds, Marlene mutters, “Gross, Reg. Don’t double dip.” He flips her off
with one chocolate-coated middle finger before sucking it clean.

The brownies were Pandora’s idea. She showed up with her favorite mix and declared it a
crime to only make cookies. No one could find a reason to disagree, so his kitchen is now a
mess of ingredients, mixing bowls, and cookies still cooling.

When Marlene tries to dip her finger in the bowl of brownie mix, Regulus rips it away at the
last second. He giggles when she swears, glaring. “It’s mine,” he tells her petulantly, sticking
out his tongue. “And you just called me gross for double dipping!”

“Whatever. I want some, so share the damn mix.”

“No.”
“Share it!”

“No.”

“Lily, make them share!” Marlene clambers up on the counter to reach for the bowl Regulus
holds high above her head. In the process, she knocks over a bag of flour. It falls to the floor
and explodes in a plume of white that coats the back of Lily’s legs.

“Whoops,” Regulus and Marlene say in unison when Lily slowly turns around to regard them
both with a blank, unamused expression.

“Really?” she deadpans, taking in the sight of Regulus, who still holds the metal bowl just
out of Marlene’s reach, and Marlene, who’s inches from slamming her forehead against the
light fixture over the island.

“Oh, shit. I know that look,” Marlene says, holding up a hand placatingly as Lily bends down
to grab the bag of flour. “Lils, please don’t murder us. Therapy is so good for you. And it’s
just a little bit! Lily, don’t. Don’t!”

There’s flour everywhere, though most of it ends up in Regulus’ hair and all over Marlene.
Dorcas swears when some sticks to her jeans, but Pandora merely watches with a lopsided
grin as Lily tosses handfuls of flour at Marlene and Regulus. They scramble off the island in
a desperate but fruitless attempt to escape the onslaught.

In the end, flour coats nearly every surface of the kitchen. It’s a mess that will take hours to
clean, but for the first time in days, Regulus laughs until he’s doubled over clutching his
stomach, and smiling so wide his cheeks ache.

Once the worst of the comedown is over and Regulus is marginally more human, Barty finds
him a group that meets every day at four o’clock inside a nearby community center. The
pamphlet recommends a schedule based on personal need and lifestyle, but Barty points a
finger at him and says, “Three times a week. At least.”

“But—”

“Three times. You barely did once a week before, and it didn’t do shit for you. Every day
isn’t feasible, so this is a happy medium.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue, but he sticks the pamphlet to his fridge with a magnet. He
wants to strangle Barty with his bare hands for this. He wants to thank his friends for giving a
shit. He wants everyone to stop meddling and let him make his own choices. He wants to
deserve the way his friends still try even though he knows they’re tired, too.

But what he doesn’t want is to sit in a group circle and listen to people with real problems
share their stories, only for the leader to inevitably turn to him. “Regulus?” they’ll ask,
expecting him to deliver a justifiable reason for going on a coke binge after two years of good
behavior.

Unfortunately, Regulus doesn’t have one. What he has are ungodly rich assholes for parents,
a brother who is clearly better off without him, and an ex-boyfriend he misses like a phantom
limb. Perhaps if he adds years of repressed sexuality and gender expression, they might not
laugh. But everything else? Even Regulus doesn’t want to hear a disinherited heir’s sob story
about how they couldn’t cut it in the real world.

This is why, even though it’s twenty minutes from his flat, he chooses to walk to the
community center rather than drive. Nothing screams all of my problems are made up and I
don’t even know why I’m here quite like a shiny Porsche Taycan.

He doesn’t know why he’s going, except to appease his friends. He’s not an addict. Addicts
can’t stop, but Regulus stopped. Two years is a long time. Plus he was fine until James
blasted through all of his defenses, then laid out the red carpet for Sirius to make a dramatic
entrance. Anyone would have a hard time processing heartbreak and betrayal.

I was vulnerable for the first time in my life, and then the man I love turned out to be a liar in
cahoots with my brother—who I’ve sort of hated for ten years, by the way—and now my heart
is broken, he’ll tell the group through gritted teeth. I went on a coke binge to deal with it, but
it was only one night. I’m doing better now. I’m fine.

Yeah, the group is definitely going to laugh at him.

“You understand it’s more than that, don’t you?” Lily had asked while shrugging on her coat
after Friday Film Night ended. “This isn’t only about James or Sirius. Reg, you spent a long
time pretending to be someone you’re not and hating who you are. You don’t even remember
half of your childhood. We call those—”

“Don’t therapize me, Lils.”

“Shut up and listen for a sec. They’re called repressed memories. You forgot them for a
reason. But that doesn’t mean they don’t still affect you as an adult. Because the ones you do
have? I think they would cripple lesser people.”

“What do you mean?”

Lily had simply kissed his cheek. “You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.
But quit acting like you’re too strong to ask for help. There’s a comfortable middle. You need
to find it.”

It’s true he doesn’t remember most of his childhood, but he’s never considered that to be
abnormal. His twenty-three year old brain shouldn’t remember what happened to him when
he was ten, nine, eight… Right? Regulus has always considered it a blessing his memories
are gone. So why does Lily make it seem like it’s anything but?

The walk from his flat to the community center is equal parts too long and too short. He buys
a pack of cigarettes on the way and smokes nearly half of it by the time he arrives. Red brick
makes up the outside walls, and the cross-gabled roof is covered with navy-colored tiles. It’s
an unassuming building, but Regulus can’t bring himself to go inside.

His heart hammers in his chest. His palms are clammy. This isn’t a place he wants to be on a
sunny Saturday afternoon. Rather than walk inside, he leans against a waist-high brick wall
near the entrance. It’s not a designated smoking area, but there isn’t a soul around to tell him
off. He’s almost thirty minutes early.

This is the first time he’s properly left his flat since he came home from Kingsley’s. A week
has passed, but he still craves the incomparable high and weightlessness. Sometimes he
thinks it would be worth the morning after regret just to have one more night where he
doesn’t feel anything other than untouchable. But his friends didn’t spend this last week
taking care of him only for him to throw it back in their faces.

I don’t trust you anymore, Reg. You have to earn it back, Barty had said after handing him the
meeting pamphlet. The words made him sick, but he knows they’re fair.

Regulus doesn’t trust himself either.

His foot bounces an unsteady rhythm. He’s crossed one ankle over the other, content to watch
strangers wander inside the community center. Some look as nervous as he feels. Thankfully
he doesn’t recognize anyone. This is a new group, somewhere he can start fresh.

“Hello. Are you here for the meeting?”

Regulus turns to find a severe-looking woman watching him curiously. She stands a few
paces away with her arms crossed and hip cocked. Her hair is dark but streaked with gray,
and she’s pulled it into a tight bun high on her head. Intimidating though she is, her smile
when their eyes meet is kind.

“Are you?” he counters, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette.

“I am.”

“Right. Okay.”

The woman tilts her head. She’s older. Maybe in her mid to late fifties. Her accent is
definitely Scottish. “What about you?”

“Supposed to be.”

“Is that so?” She’s slight like his mother but less sharp. Despite her intimidating and watchful
gaze, she doesn’t terrify him. Her blouse is pretty but basic, her dark trousers are neatly
pressed, and her flats are simple but professional.

Regulus isn’t sure what to make of her.

“What’s your name?” she asks when he still doesn’t answer her first question.

“Leo.”
“Ah. Like the constellation?”

He smirks around the end of his cigarette. “Yeah. Like the constellation.”

It’s better if no one knows anything about him. The anonymity made the process easier last
time. He could disconnect. Besides, he won’t have to come to these meetings long enough for
it to matter.

“I’m Minerva, but you can call me Minnie. Everyone else does.” She holds out a delicate,
long-fingered hand for him to shake. “So you’re supposed to be here for the meeting? It starts
in a few minutes, you know.”

“I know.”

“But you just lit a new cigarette.”

“And?”

“Is this your first time?”

“Yes. No. Not really.” Regulus fidgets under the weight of her stare. “I did this before a few
years ago. But not with this group. It was a different one.”

Minnie’s expression softens. “You can come in if you’d like, or you can stay out here.
Showing up is half the battle.”

Regulus takes a long drag off his cigarette in lieu of a reply. Three more people head inside
the community center. “You should go,” he says. “The meeting starts soon.”

“It’s my meeting. It can wait. I’m always on time, so I think they’ll be happy to have a few
extra minutes for chatter.”

“You’re the meeting leader?”

“Mhm. For a few years now. This is a good group.”

Regulus’ foot continues to bounce. “I promised people I would go in there, but…”

“Personally,” Minnie says, almost conspiratorially, “I think it’s much better if you go inside
on your own. Do it for yourself. Not someone else. If you aren’t ready, then wait here. Try
again next time. I promise no one will drag you inside.”

“Oh. Is that really okay?”

“Everyone does this part differently. Like I said, showing up is half the battle.”

“What if I—” Regulus sucks in a shaky breath. “What if I never go in?”

Minnie shrugs, but she doesn’t answer his question. Instead, she says, “If you’re still here
when the meeting ends, we can chat some more.”
“I don’t really have much to talk about.”

“That’s alright, too.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Of course.” Minnie smiles warmly, then takes a step towards the entrance. “Enjoy the
sunshine, Leo.”

Regulus watches her disappear inside the community center. Despite her reassurance, he still
feels guilty for not attending. He promised his friends that he would do this. But it feels like
too much too soon; he’s not sure that he’s ready to face it all again.

An hour passes before people begin to filter out of the community center, chatting animatedly
with one another. Regulus is down to his last cigarette. He tried to pace himself, but he’s too
anxious. He watches everyone leave, thankful only a handful notice him still sitting there,
until Minnie approaches.

“It was a good meeting,” she says, waving at a man who’s the last to leave. “Maybe next
time?”

“Maybe next time,” he replies, and she gives him a small, warm smile before walking away.

The second meeting happens a few days later. Regulus buys another pack of cigarettes, leans
against the same low wall, and watches people filter in and then out of the community center.
Minnie tries to talk to him, but today isn’t a good day. He’s tired from lectures and exhausted
by the mountain of assignments he has to catch up on.

He should not have wasted an hour standing outside, chain smoking cigarettes. Furious with
himself, he says nothing to Minnie before pushing off the wall and walking home.

His friends ask about the meetings, but he dodges their questions. The only truth he can offer
is that he hasn’t talked yet. Barty tells him that’s perfectly alright, Pandora pats his head
affectionately, and Regulus feels like shit for lying.

The third meeting is on a Wednesday. He rushes home after lectures finish so he can still
make it by his usual time and claim his spot.

A week and a half has passed since Paris, and life is moving on without him. He’s attending
lectures again, he has work scheduled for this weekend, and his friends no longer stay the
night. They check in regularly, but he spends most of his time alone when he isn’t at
university.

Sometimes it feels as though he and James never happened. Like their entire relationship is a
dream Regulus woke from a week and a half ago. It’s the feeling of going away for a while
and expecting your home to change while you’re gone, only to realize when you return that
the only thing that’s truly changed is you. To Regulus, it’s a discomforting epiphany.

His classmates don’t know he spent the last week recovering from a cocaine binge. His
professors only know he was too ill to attend lectures, and their faces pinch when he confirms
his extension dates. Regulus’ first serious relationship fell apart, he still itches for a high
gifted by a white line, but the world moves on regardless.

He notices himself zoning out during lectures. This is a new kind of tired. A bone-deep
exhaustion he hasn’t felt in years. He ordered a new Lego set a few days ago to help with the
return of his sleepless nights. The Titanic, with all of its pieces newly bagged and neatly
packed, now sits in the back of the closet in his guest bedroom. He buried it under a mountain
of empty Lego boxes in an effort to put the ship out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, he managed to finish the new 5,471 piece set that he bought in less than three
days. Resigned to the grim truth that he’s back to an insomniac’s lifestyle, he scrolls
aimlessly through the Lego website while waiting for Wednesday’s meeting. He flicks ash off
the end of a cigarette he keeps forgetting to smoke.

“Those will kill you, you know,” Minnie says when she approaches. Her smile is small, but it
still crinkles her eyes. “Do you mind if I have one?”

Regulus sputters a laugh. “They’ll kill you, you know.”

“So will plenty of other things.” She holds out a hand, that same eyebrow perpetually raised,
and waits until he passes her a cigarette and his lighter before leaning on the wall an arm’s
length away. “Thank you. Today was a stressful one.”

“What do you do? For work, I mean.”

“Primary school teacher. I love my students, but some days are harder than others. And today
was a hard day.”

“Yeah,” Regulus says vacantly. “It was for me, too.”

Minnie doesn’t offer a reply, but Regulus doesn’t want one. He’s happy to sit in silence while
they finish their cigarettes. Meeting members start to arrive ten minutes before four. They
wave, and Minnie waves back. Regulus pretends not to notice them.

“Today?” asks Minnie, stubbing out the rest of her cigarette.

“No. Not today.”

“Maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time.”

He isn’t sure yet if he means it, but he thinks he might be getting close.

Regulus was once told that all good things come in threes.
Morning, midday, evening. Three acts in a play. Wines of red, white, and rosé. One, two,
three meetings nearly attended but not quite.

Three staccato knocks on a front door.

It’s almost three o’clock on a Saturday, two weeks to the day since Regulus bought a one-way
ticket to Rock Bottom with no intention of coming back up. Tonight will be his first night
back to work. There are three sets laid out on the edge of his bed in the colors of a bruise—
purple, green, and blue. He has three assignments left to finish before Monday morning, but
no energy to muscle through them. He’s hardly slept in days.

Three more sharp knocks on a front door.

Regulus, in bed with only a textbook to keep him company, yanks out his earphone and
squints into the hallway. Did he mishear, or is someone really knocking? His phone has been
quiet all afternoon; it isn’t like his friends to drop by unannounced. He checks to make sure,
but there are no unread texts or missed calls.

One, two, three more knocks.

“Fucking hell. Alright!” Regulus slams his textbook closed and slides off the edge of his bed.
He hopes to God it isn’t his neighbor, who’s back to side-eyeing him when he leaves for uni
in the morning. He has the distinct impression his neighbor was thrilled the month he was
living with James, but is not happy about his return.

“You and me both,” Regulus mutters to an empty hallway.

Maybe it isn’t his neighbor. Did he order something and forget about it? Perhaps, but the
postman always leaves his packages at the door followed by only one sharp knock.

So who in the hell keeps knocking three times?

“Hold on!” he shouts, his irritation spiking. “Just leave whatever it is by the door! I don’t—”

No.

Everything comes to a terrible, awful, devastating stop when he opens the door.

No.

No.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, blinking several times in an attempt to clear his vision. Surely
this isn’t real. It can’t be. He’s dreaming. Definitely. He has to be. There’s no other
explanation. But his hands fist at his sides, nails cutting so deeply into his palms that he
hisses from the pain.

No, this is not a dream.

This is very, very, very real.

Ten years, but this is the spitting image of his father in front of him. Or rather, it’s Orion
adjacent in the way he’s Walburga adjacent. Two replicas, but not quite. As though their
sculptor decided to mold them just that little bit different in the end. To alter and mix the best
parts of the originals. To make copies that will never be perfect replicas.

But the replicas are still clearly brothers.

There are differences—blue irises rather than gray; soft lines for every sharp angle; long
waves to shorter curls—but there is so much that is the same, too. The color of their hair,
black as pitch. The full set of their lips. The same cupid’s bows. Pale skin. Lightly freckled,
aristocratic noses. Fine, delicate features.

Ten years, but now the sculptor’s finest works stare at one another, surprised at the changes.

Broken by the similarities.

“Hey, Reggie.” Sirius rubs at the back of his neck. His chest expands with a deep, shaky
breath. He looks everything and nothing like he did the last time Regulus saw him. “It’s been
a while, yeah?”

Absolutely.

The fuck.

Not.

Regulus slams the door hard enough to knock several picture frames off the walls. They crash
to the floor, and glass shatters across the entryway. His breaths come in strangled, shallow
gasps. This can’t be happening.

“Reggie, please. Open the door. I know this is insane. James is going to kill me when he finds
out I—Look, I know I shouldn’t be… Please, Reggie. Just talk to me.”

Fucking hell.

This is happening.

Regulus collapses against the door and slides all the way down to the floor. The impact rattles
his teeth in his skull. “Go away, Sirius,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut and curling in on
himself. “I can’t do this. Just leave me alone.”

“Reggie—”

“Don’t call me that. That’s what people who matter get to call me. You lost that right.”

Sirius goes deadly silent. But when he speaks again, his voice is level with Regulus’ ear. “I
know I lost it. And I know I don’t deserve it. I know you hate me, and that you’re angry. All
of it is justified. But I just want to talk, Reg.” Another pause. Regulus holds his breath. “All I
want is to tell you what happened, and if you still hate me after, then that’s okay.”
Regulus shifts onto his side and leans his shoulder against the door. He presses his cheek to
it, then all five fingertips and his palm. A ball forms in his throat. Ten years and an
unknowable distance narrowed to nothing more than a door.

“Can I ask you one thing? Just one, and then I’ll go. I promise.”

Every word out of Sirius’ mouth makes Regulus curl into a tighter and tighter ball. His
brother’s voice belongs in a memory, some place unreachable. Not here in real life.

Regulus keeps his hand pressed to the door. His vision is blurry when he opens his eyes.
Sirius isn’t a phantom in his memories anymore, nor is he a private Instagram profile or a
memorialized figure in James’ pictures. He’s real, and he’s breathing, and he’s here.

“One,” Regulus finally says, blinking back tears. “You can ask me one question.”

It’s quiet for some time. Neither brother says a word. Regulus barely breathes. Despite the
silence, he knows Sirius is still there. Perhaps he’s struggling to hold it together as much as
Regulus, whose lungs won’t expand and whose heart threatens to crack his ribs with how
violently it beats.

But then Sirius asks, “How are the stars tonight?” and all of the air punches out of Regulus’
lungs.

He’s eight and lying on his stomach across the narrow landing between their rooms. Sirius’
door is locked from the outside with a key only their mother possesses. Wood scrapes the
skin off Regulus’ knuckles, the back of his hand. But Sirius is on the other side of this door;
he won’t stop until he feels cool fingers brush his. It’s the only confirmation he has that his
brother is still here.

Not okay—never okay—but here. That was enough then.

Regulus is ten with a splint on his wrist. His jaw aches, and his cheek stings so badly he can’t
sleep on his favorite side. You fell, Regulus. Don’t you remember? He doesn’t—because he
didn’t. But it would be worse to tell the doctor Maman pushed him too hard, so he lied. He’s
already so good at lying even though he’s only ten years old.

“Reggie?” Soft footsteps. The shift of a blanket. A warm body pressed against his back.
“Does it hurt?”

Of course it hurts. It always hurts.

But Regulus doesn’t answer. He clutches his wrist to his chest with a small, limp hand. Sirius
pulls the duvet over both of their heads to ensconce them in an untouchable world of their
own.

It’s here that Sirius asks for the first time, “How are the stars tonight?”

Regulus rolls onto his back and turns his head, ignoring the twinge in his cheek to ask, “What
did you say?”
That night, Sirius teaches him a new way to communicate. He says siblings should always
have special codes. A way to understand each other that is only theirs. Like best friends, but
better. So Regulus learns to say I can see them when the pain isn’t too bad. And he learns to
say they’re fading, but there are a few left when the pain makes it difficult to sleep. They
agree to only ever say I can’t see them when it’s the worst it’s ever been.

Eventually, Regulus comes to understand why Sirius asks him this question instead of does it
hurt? or are you okay? No one was ever okay under that roof or within those walls.
Especially not the brothers.

Regulus is eleven the last time he whispers their special code under Sirius’ door. Sirius took
the brunt of their parents’ anger that night, lying through his teeth and smiling all the while.
Regulus could only watch in shame and terror as his brother took a punishment meant for
him.

“Sirius,” he whispers, frantic and desperate. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sirius, are you there?
Maman and Papa are sleeping. Sirius?”

For something described as the absence of sound, Regulus suddenly finds silence to be
incredibly loud.

He hisses when a piece of splintered wood pierces his skin. “Sirius. Answer me. Please. Are
you there?”

“Here,” his brother finally says, barely more than a whisper. His fingers slot together with
Regulus’. “I’m here.”

“How are the stars tonight?”

It’s another long, loud silence before Sirius replies, “I’m so tired, Reggie. There aren’t any
stars left.”

The hand touching Regulus’ slips away. Sirius disappears. Stops answering. Leaves Regulus
alone on the landing, in the dark and the too loud quiet.

It was a small hurt that Regulus didn’t know how to name at the time. It was always supposed
to be him and Sirius up there in the sky. No matter how awful it became, their stars would
always burn brighter than the rest. But after that night, Sirius didn’t look at him the same. He
still said love you, Reggie and ruffled Regulus’ curls, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes
anymore.

Some days were better than others, but Regulus was never able to shake the feeling that their
mother had finally broken something in Sirius that night. He was never the same, and neither
was Regulus. Not really.

Regulus pulls his knees to his chest with a hushed sob. He’s twenty-three again, leaning
against another door and all of this is déjà vu. Breathe in, breathe out. His head hurts from
lack of sleep. Breathe in, breathe out. It hurts from the truth of his brother mere inches away.
Breathe in, breathe out. It hurts from the loss of a home that isn’t one anymore.
He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper. When did he forget those five words and the
memories attached to them? Were they locked in a box labeled SIRIUS that he swore never
to touch again?

The tears flow freely when he shifts on his knees and reaches for the doorknob. Sunlight
burns his retinas until his eyes adjust—and there’s his big brother sitting cross-legged on the
front porch, a ruddy mark discoloring his forehead like he was resting it against the door.

“You left,” Regulus whispers. “You left, Sirius. You left and you didn’t come back for me.
You promised.”

“I know.”

“I waited.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t come.”

Sirius grimaces. “I tried. I tried so many times and for such a long time.”

“But you stopped trying.”

“Because after a while, I thought you wanted to be there. It was stupid, but I was young and I
—I didn’t think… I thought you didn’t want to come with me anymore.”

Regulus doesn’t know whether he should be angry or happy or sad or terrified or so fucking
grateful his brother is alive and breathing and here. Everything jumbles into a single thread of
emotion that threatens to wrap around his neck like a noose. “How did you find me? Did
James tell you where I live?”

“No. No.” Sirius shakes his head, eyes wide with horror. “James is… He’s not… Well, he’s
not talking. To anyone. Not right now. Remus found your address. He’s good at that stuff. I
promise James didn’t send me.”

Forget me if you want to, but I know you miss your brother.

A petty part of Regulus clings to his indignation, but he knows James was—and still is—
right. Regulus has missed Sirius for a long time, even if he never dared to admit it out loud.
Or to himself. But who was he really fooling if James noticed? If his friends noticed?

Maybe the only person he’s managed to fool is himself.

“One hour,” Regulus says despite his better judgment. “I’ll give you one hour. That’s it. I
have a meeting at half past four that I can’t miss.”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay. One hour. Yeah.” Sirius scrambles to his feet after Regulus. “Should I
—?”
“No. I’m not letting you in my flat. There’s an American diner about a ten minute walk from
here. It’s the only place I know nearby that has proper milkshakes.”

Sirius’ eyes brighten. “Wicked. I haven’t had one of those in ages.”

Regulus snatches his keys from the bowl by the door, then shoves on his Docs without
bothering to do up the laces. He’s a complete disaster—oversized jumper with tear stains on
the sleeve, ancient joggers, hair in disarray, cheeks blotchy—but he can’t bring himself to
care.

It isn’t until he steps outside that he notices a shiny black motorbike parked at the end of his
walkway. He stares for a beat too long, then asks, “Is that yours?”

“The Ducati? Yeah, it’s mine. Why?”

“Because all I want to do right now is key the shit out of it. Let’s go.”

Sirius seems both amused and concerned. He follows Regulus to the end of the walkway,
where they make a sharp right turn. The diner is equidistant between Regulus’ flat and the
community center. Convenient, now that he thinks about it.

“If you want to—”

“Do not talk to me,” Regulus snaps, shoving his hands in the pockets of his joggers. He itches
for something to take the edge off. His rule is no cigarettes outside of his walks to the
community center, but he would break his own rule in a heartbeat if he could. “I’m giving
you one hour. That hour starts the second you start speaking. And I want my bloody
milkshake if I have to listen to this. So do not speak to me for at least ten minutes.”

He expects Sirius to argue, but no retort comes. They fall into step on the pavement. Neither
of them utters a word the entire walk to the diner.

It’s deserted, but it almost always is between lunch and dinnertime. Regulus orders a
chocolate milkshake, and Sirius opts for a monstrosity of flavors that makes Regulus’
stomach churn.

He’s seven on a family trip to New York City. It’s for a gala, but he and Sirius manage to slip
away into the big city. He holds his brother’s hand and stands on tiptoes to see over a tall
counter’s ledge. A large, burly man with a dark mustache looks down at them. Two
milkshakes, please, followed by American money pushed across a dingy countertop. In
exchange, they receive two tall glasses full of blended milk and ice cream.

They were the first and best milkshakes Regulus ever had. After returning to England, he and
Sirius searched far and wide for perfect replicas of the treat they shared in New York City.
But no matter how many restaurants they tried, they never did find the perfect milkshake.

There’s a table in the corner far from curious ears and prying eyes. It hasn’t been properly
cleaned in ages, and the booth’s red vinyl seats creak when they slide in. Weighted silence
settles in the air.
Sirius’ hair is longer now than it ever was. Half is tied up in a bun with a chopstick run
through it, while the other half falls in loose waves past his shoulders. His eyes are still the
same piercing, depthless blue, and his jawline and cheekbones cut sharp but delicate angles.
There’s a softness to him now that wasn’t there before.

When Sirius fiddles with the thick red straw stuck in his milkshake, Regulus notices tattoos
covering the backs of his hands and fingers. There’s even an indiscernible shape on one palm.
The most intricate lines disappear under the long sleeves of his leather jacket.

“Your hour starts now,” Regulus says to break the silence. He pulls his milkshake closer but
doesn’t take a sip. “Since you know everything about me and I know nothing about you, I
think it’s only fair that you do all of the talking.”

Confusion clouds Sirius’ expression. “Huh?”

“James. I’m sure he already told you everything there is to know.”

“Actually, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, it’s not. James didn’t tell me a single thing.”

Regulus searches his brother’s face for any sign of a lie, but he doesn’t know if he can still
read the minute changes in Sirius’ features the way he once could. “Then what do you
know?”

“I know where you live. But like I said, I made Remus find that for me.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Regulus’ eyes narrow to thin slits. “James didn’t tell you where I work? Where I go to uni?
What I study? About us?”

“No.” Sirius shakes his head slowly. “All I know about you and James is that he’s in love
with you. And that you were living with him for a little while. But that’s it. I swear.”

Regulus and his brother are no better than strangers.

It’s not at all what he expects. Ever since he found Sirius’ name in James’ phone, he’s felt
spied upon. Like he’s once again living in a twisted version of The Truman Show, but this
time it’s one directed by his big brother and the man he loves and trusted.

“Why didn’t he tell you anything about me?” asks Regulus tentatively.

“Did he tell you anything about me?”

“Of course not. I didn’t even know you’re his best friend.”
“But even after you knew, did James say anything about me?”

Regulus takes in his brother’s arched brow, the pointed look in those bright blue eyes. “No,”
he finally admits. “He didn’t tell me anything. He just kept saying it wasn’t his story to tell,
and that I needed to talk to you.”

“James can be an idiot, but he’s usually a fair idiot.” Sirius grins around the thick red straw
he takes between his teeth. “If you didn’t know anything about me, then I didn’t know
anything about you.”

“He lied about you for months. And you knew about me for weeks. He wasn’t fair. Not to
me.”

Sirius’ amusement dims. “I know. It’s… It’s complicated.” Then his entire face crumples. He
drops his head in his hands. “Fuck. I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning is generally preferred.”

“You’ve changed,” Sirius muses, still with his head in his hands. “You were always a little
rough around the edges, but you’re different. I can’t explain it, but…”

“Ten years is a long time. People change, Sirius. It’s shocking, I know.” Regulus’ tone is as
biting and cruel as their mother’s. “So how about we start there? On the day you left me
behind. Come on. What’s the excuse?”

“I don’t have one.” Sirius finally looks up. There’s nothing but pain and sorrow in his eyes.
“After I left, I moved in with Remus and his parents. We lived in this tiny bedroom on the top
floor. It was basically an attic. You were only thirteen, so I had to apply to become a special
guardian. Otherwise our parents could have you taken away. Hope and Lyall might’ve gotten
in trouble. Me and Remus, too.”

Sirius chews on his lower lip, fiddling with the straw in his milkshake. “It’s fucked, really.
There was never a record of abuse. Walburga was good. Hospital visits had believable stories.
We never went to the same one twice, and if we did, there was a donation made in the Black
family name to keep the right people quiet. It meant there was no evidence. I had nothing to
show the court that I was fit to be a better guardian than them.”

Regulus pauses licking whipped cream off the end of his straw. “You went to court?”

“Against Walburga and Orion? Yeah, of course. Didn’t you know that?”

“No.”

Sirius’ frown deepens. “I’m surprised they didn’t want to gloat about winning. I could prove
fuck all about the abuse, and they had the better barrister. But the real problem was the living
situation. My application was null and void once I admitted you hadn’t been living with me
for at least a year, which is a requirement. And I was still living with Remus’ parents in a
dingy attic, while you were living with billionaires. Family court just laughed at me.”
“Of course I wasn’t living with you,” Regulus mutters bitterly. “You never came back for
me.”

“I tried like hell to get you out of there, Reg. But once I realized it had to be completely legal
or Walburga and Orion could take you right back… They knew what they were doing. I think
they knew I was planning to leave the second I could get out of there, and that I planned to
eventually bring you with me. I memorized your number. Everything about your school. But
it didn’t matter.”

Regulus swirls his straw around in his milkshake. After Sirius left, his parents took his phone
and replaced it with a new one. When he tried to call Sirius’ number, it never worked. Not
even a week later, his parents moved him to a new school and made sure he always had a
chaperone. He rarely had a moment alone those days.

Sirius’ voice is bitter by the time he continues. “After Remus and I managed to get our own
place, I tried to convince the court to let me have temporary guardianship over you. Just…
something. But this time, Walburga and Orion went for the throat. They made up all sorts of
shit. They said that I was stalking your new school, hanging out around the house,
threatening to break in… Money can do wonderful things when you have too much of it.”

“Wait. When did all of this happen?”

“I think it took six months to get them in court the first time. It took another year after that to
get them in court again, and that time they pretty much guaranteed that I wouldn’t be able to
get guardianship over you.” Sirius’ jaw works back and forth, his eyes blazing. “I was told
that if I came within a certain distance of the house, your school, or you, that I would be
arrested.”

“What?” Regulus’ jaw drops. “They never said a word to me about you. It was like you—you
died, or something. They always spoke about you in past tense…”

Sirius’ smile turns rueful. “Walburga invented mind games. She taught us how to play them,
but she always played them better. When did you stop waiting for me to come back? When
did your hope turn to hate?”

“I don’t know. It was gradual. It’s not like I woke up one morning and decided I hated you.
The resentment built over time. And then I just… I stopped waiting. I stopped hoping you
would come back. Maman and Papa weren’t so bad for a while. They weren’t nice, but they
stopped hitting me. Maman would slap me around sometimes, but if I was good, they were
happy.”

“There you have it.” Sirius snorts a mirthless laugh. “What better to drive a wedge between
us than us, Reg? All they had to do was keep me away long enough. Because the resentment
grew for me, too. I would sneak into galas and fancy parties pretending to be waitstaff, and I
would see you laughing with our cousins. Or I would see Orion with a hand on your shoulder.
And you looked… I don’t know. Not happy, but you looked like you belonged.”

Regulus shrinks back, his milkshake forgotten on the table. “I didn’t belong with them. I
never belonged with them. I belonged with you. Did you really think I wanted to be there?”
“No. Yes. Sometimes. The more time went on, the more I started to wonder whether you ever
wanted to come with me at all. It was a two-way street, Reg. You didn’t try to reach out to me
either. I gave you Hope and Lyall’s address before I left. I wrote it down just in case.”

“Maman and Papa watched my every move. I never had a second alone.”

“I know, but did you even try? Because all I saw was the way you laughed with all of them. I
don’t care that you didn’t want to be there. You looked like you did. And there I was
spending all of this time and money to get you out and…” Sirius swears under his breath. He
yanks the chopsticks out of his hair so he can run a shaky hand through it. “I tried to call. I
wrote. Nothing ever seemed to get through, and if it did, you didn’t answer. I was trying, Reg.
All of the time. But you never did.”

Regulus’ anger is quick and sharp as a whip. “I didn’t try? I didn’t try? You can’t be—I was
fourteen!”

“Not forever! What happened when you turned eighteen? Hope and Lyall still live in that
house, Reg. They didn’t move. I told them you might show up. I was waiting, too. After your
eighteenth birthday, I lived in that upstairs room for two months. All I did was wait!”

“I wanted nothing to do with you by the time I turned eighteen. I didn’t want to find you. I
wanted to forget I ever had a brother and—”

The waitress clears her throat from behind the counter, and Regulus drops his voice to a
furious whisper.

“What the fuck was I supposed to do, Sirius? Run away? At fourteen? You said yourself that
the court wouldn’t grant you guardianship! So what did you do once you freed yourself of
me? Get married? Buy a fucking bookstore?” Regulus scoffs. “I saw you opened it the year I
turned eighteen. That was real nice of you. Happy birthday, Regulus.”

It’s been a long time since he last fought like this with his brother. He isn’t sure why he
expects Sirius to back down. Maybe because most do. Even James flinched away when
Regulus really got going. But if there’s one person on this planet who can match his fury,
who can stand toe to toe with him—it’s Sirius.

“Is that what you think I did? Celebrated? For fuck’s sake, Regulus.” Sirius leans closer until
their faces are mere inches apart. “I got married because I was in love, and it meant I could
take Remus’ last name. I was trying to protect myself! And the bookstore was Remus’
passion project. It had fuck all to do with you. He studied business at uni, and his final
assignment was a business plan. And guess what? It won a prize! Bloody hell. I take back
what I said before. You haven’t changed a fucking bit. Everything is still always about you.”

“Fuck you, Sirius.”

“Really? Is that all you’ve got?” Sirius laughs in Regulus’ face before leaning back in his
seat. “You’re pissed off this isn’t what you thought it was, aren’t you? What did you think,
Reg? That I did it all to spite you? To rub it in your face? That I left you and never looked
back?”
Regulus clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know whether he wants to scream or cry or some
violent combination of both. “What else was I supposed to think? You just left. Gone! I was
too young to know any better, Sirius.”

“Yeah? Well, so the fuck was I.”

The fire raging between them goes out as quickly as it came to life. They stare at each other
across the dingy diner table. Sirius has played his hand, but Regulus holds his cards close to
his chest.

Over the last ten years, he’s imagined this conversation a thousand different times. In every
single scenario, his brother grovels. Isn’t that what he deserves? He knows he didn’t look for
Sirius when he had the chance, but it was a deliberate decision made after he realized the
memories only left him cold and angry.

“Do you hate me?” he asks quietly, unable to stifle his own morbid curiosity. He needs to
know. “When you realized I wasn’t trying to find you, was it hate that you felt?”

Sadness douses the last bit of fire in Sirius’ eyes. “I’ve never hated you. I was angry and hurt,
but more than that, I just missed you. I wanted to make it right, but I didn’t know how after
so long. And the more time passed without any contact from you… I realized I had to try and
learn how to live without you in my life. It was…bad. For a while. But what other option did
I have?”

Regulus twists his fingers in his lap. Despite the milkshake, his mouth is dry. His tongue feels
useless. He doesn’t know how to say I understand, because it was bad for me too, so instead
he asks, “Do our parents know where you are?”

“Yes.”

The immediate answer shocks him. His head snaps up. “What? But they told me…”

“Mind games, Reg. Walburga loves them. It’s been years since her and Orion tried to actually
reach out, but I know they’re keeping an eye on me in their own way. I don’t think it’s
possible to disappear completely with parents like ours. I tried to scrub myself from the
internet, but it started to feel like I couldn’t have a life. I was paranoid all of the time.” Sirius
shrugs half-heartedly. “I guess I reached a point where I didn’t care whether or not they kept
an eye on me. I’m an adult. They can’t force me to come home. What I do is none of their
concern.”

“They want me to come home.” Regulus fidgets with the narrow stem of his milkshake glass.
“Maman tried in Milan, and Rodolphus tried in Paris…”

“Oh. Yeah. I do know about that,” Sirius says sheepishly, running a hand through his hair
again. “James kinda ripped my head off for freaking out, since that’s how you found out
about… It did not go the way any of us planned.”

Regulus scowls, and that familiar simmer starts behind his ribs. “I don’t want to talk about
what happened in Paris. I can’t handle you and him. Not right now.”
“That’s fair. Look, the only reason they want you to come home is because Orion doesn’t
want to see the family fortune fall into Lucius and Narcissa’s hands. They’re the only ones
with a kid. So if it isn’t us, then it’ll be Draco. Walburga would rather die than see Draco
inherit everything.”

Regulus doesn’t admit that there are other reasons for his parents to desperately want him
back within their clutches. Reasons that have very little to do with tiny Draco and everything
to do with millions in fraudulent funds. It’s too big of a secret, and Regulus has held onto it
for far too long.

Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t even told James, but it was said in a moment of weakness. Or
rather, in a moment of pure bliss, when Regulus felt untouchable and James felt safe.

“If they know where you are, then they’re going to know you came to my flat,” Regulus says.
He leans forward to sip more of his milkshake. It’s delicious, but his stomach is wound into
too many knots for him to properly enjoy it. “They seem happy to leave me alone when I’m
in London, but what if now…”

“Honestly? I don’t know. And this is a risk for me too, Reg. I told you they’ve pretty much
left me alone the last few years. There’s a chance they might reach out if they find out we
talked. But it’s a risk I felt was worth taking.” Sirius runs a hand down his face and sighs. “Is
my hour up, or do I still have time?”

Regulus shifts to pull his phone out of his pocket. It’s nearly four o’clock. “Your hour is
almost up.”

Wordlessly, Sirius snatches a napkin from the metal dispenser and waves the waitress over.
“Sorry, but can I borrow one of your pens? It’ll be quick. Promise.”

The waitress’ gaze shifts nervously between them, but she eventually passes Sirius a pen
before turning on her heel and marching away.

“What are you doing?” asks Regulus, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of what
Sirius is writing.

“Be honest. Do you still hate me?”

Regulus fidgets with the stem of his milkshake glass again. “I don’t know,” he admits. His
voice is barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. And sometimes all
I want is to scream at you for giving up. But I…” The dirty table blurs with the red of the
booth, and he wipes furiously at his eyes. “It’s been ten years. I mourned you like you were
dead. That doesn’t go away in an hour.”

“No, it doesn’t. But I’m not asking it to. Here.” Sirius holds out the flimsy napkin he
scribbled a string of numbers on. “This is for you, if you want it. It’s my number. You can
call or text me. Either is fine. But only do it if you want to. It’s your choice. James and I…
We fucked up not giving you one the first time around. This time, it’s up to you.”
Regulus takes the napkin, but he holds it slightly away from his body. “What if I never text or
call?”

“Then at least I know you’re out there somewhere, and that you’re alright. You’re alive, and
you’re happy. Even if I can’t be a part of your life, I know people who care about you are.”
Sirius’ eyes mist over, but his voice is steady. “If you want to talk more, let me know. There’s
so much I want to tell you. And I have so many questions. But it’s your choice, okay? The
Ducati is fast as hell. I can be wherever you need me before you know it.”

“When did you stop being angry with me?” asks Regulus, tucking the napkin in his pocket.
“James said that you were really drunk and regretful on your birthday, and that’s why he
came and found me.”

Sirius smiles crookedly. “I’m still angry with you, Reg. And I’m still hurt. I wish every single
day that you had come looking for me after you left that house. But I didn’t look for you
either. I have to own that at least half of this is my fault. I’m angry with myself as much as
I’m angry with you. But that doesn’t mean I never want to speak to you again. I miss being
your big brother.”

Regulus’ heart is a mess of things he doesn’t know how to sort through. There’s anger, but
not all of it is for Sirius. Plenty of it is for himself.

There’s a box of old things on the highest shelf in his closet. Buried at the bottom is a scrap
of old paper Sirius hid under Regulus’ pillow on the night he left. Did James know that
Regulus didn’t offer the whole truth when he said Sirius left nothing for him to follow? Did
Sirius tell him about the note Regulus tucked away in a box? He was sixteen when he hid it
from himself. His anger was so bitter and mean then. He couldn’t bring himself to get rid of
the slip of paper, but he hated that it existed. What it meant.

And when Regulus turned eighteen, he took the box with him but never dared to open it. He
didn’t want to find Sirius. He didn’t want to see how his brother had managed to carry on
without him. It was easier to remain ignorant, to lie and pretend Sirius never existed. So he
hid the note, the box, and his brother. He tucked them all away together and spun himself a
lie that even he started to believe.

“I know my hour is up,” Sirius says, pulling Regulus back into the diner. “I won’t keep you.
You’ve got shit you’re doing. A life you’re living. But I’m here, okay? If you want to talk, let
me know.”

“Okay.” Regulus fiddles with the drawstring of his joggers, looping it around his index finger
over and over. “I can’t make promises, but… Okay.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. Condensation collects in a ring around the base of his
glass. His milkshake is nearly finished, but he doesn’t have the stomach for it anymore. He
wants to crawl under his duvet and sleep for a year. He wants to feel nothing for a little while.

He wants to be Sirius’ little brother again.

“Do you need a ride back to your flat?” Sirius tilts his head in the direction of the car park,
and Regulus shifts his gaze to find a black Jeep has parked in a corner spot. It’s the only car
in the lot.

A man, broad-shouldered and tall, leans against the grill. There’s a cigarette between his
teeth, and he blows plumes of smoke into the air. The sleeves of his brown jumper are pushed
up to his elbows, exposing scarred forearms. He wears dark jeans and beat up boots, one
ankle crossed over the other. His face is tilted towards the waning afternoon sun.

Seeming to sense Regulus’ eyes on him, the man turns to stare back. There’s an unmistakable
scar across his face. It cuts from his brow through one amber eye, over his nose, and down to
his chin. On anyone else, it might be grotesque, but this man has always worn it well.

With a scowl, Regulus flips him off through the window.

Remus raises a hand to wave back.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Sirius mutters, though his voice is tinged with amusement. “But it
would be nice if you two got along someday.”

“What’s he doing here?”

Sirius reaches up to pull his hair into a high bun, then shoves the chopstick through it. “I
texted him when you were ordering your milkshake. I didn’t know how this was going to go,
so I let him know where we were. Just in case I needed to get out of here. I know this wasn’t
easy for you, but it wasn’t easy for me either. Why do you think I avoided it for so long?”

“I avoided it, too,” Regulus concedes quietly, unable to stop himself. “I avoided a lot of
things.”

“It’s what we do best. One of many infamous Black family traits, I think.”

Regulus says nothing when Sirius slides out of the booth and gets to his feet. He hesitates for
a moment, bottom lip between his teeth and jaw feathering slightly.

Then he says, “I love you, Regulus. I know you’re not going to say it back, and that’s okay.
I’m not expecting you to. But it doesn’t matter how angry or hurt I am. I didn’t say it before I
left you in that house. I thought I would have another chance, so I saved it. But if I’d known
it would be ten years before I got to tell you again, then I would’ve said it a thousand times
before I ran. So don’t feel like you have to say anything. Just know that I love you.”

Regulus inhales a shuddering breath. He says nothing as Sirius zips up his jacket, then walks
away without another word. He looks over his shoulder when he’s halfway to the Jeep, but
it’s only to give Regulus a small, tentative smile. Then he crosses the remaining distance,
says something indiscernible to Remus, and climbs into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

Regulus stays sitting in the booth long after Sirius and Remus leave. He stares at the dirty
table top, his mind too crowded and his heart too heavy. His knee bounces ceaselessly. He
wants to feel weightless. He needs to feel untouchable.
Was it really that easy for his parents to manipulate him? Did they laugh while they did it? Or
maybe they congratulated each other when Regulus turned his back on Sirius. It backfired
when he walked out exactly like his brother, but the damage was done.

Ten years wasted.

Ten years lost.

Regulus stands on the edge of a slippery slope. It would take very little to push him off the
edge. He would give anything to forget about his family, his brother, and the mess of it all.
Before he can second guess himself, he slides out of the booth and walks briskly out the front
door. The waitress calls out a hurried goodbye, but he pretends he doesn’t hear her.

He never does finish his milkshake.

He’s not dressed for this place, but he doesn’t care that he looks a mess. He is a mess. There’s
an itch under his skin that he can’t scratch. At first, he thinks it’s a want. The desire to forget.
But he realizes halfway here that it’s not a want—it’s a need.

A desperate craving to get his hands on the only thing that’s ever properly helped him let go.
Not that it allows him to let go forever, but it promises temporary relief from the thoughts
that won’t stop racing and the emotions that won’t stop suffocating him.

And oh, is he suffocating—on pain, on anger, on regret, on confusion, and on so much

sadness he wants to forget his own name. He’s choking on ten wasted, lost years.

It’s 4:29 p.m. when he arrives at the community center. He expects to find the entrance
deserted, but Minnie leans against the wall exactly where Regulus always smokes. Her lips
are drawn into a thin line, her arms are crossed, and she taps one foot in a steady rhythm.

But her expression noticeably softens when she sees him. There’s blatant relief in her eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks when he’s within earshot. “It’s not like you to be late.”

“Cocaine,” he blurts, and she tilts her head, clearly waiting. “That’s why I’m here. And it’s
stupid, really. There’s nothing wrong with my life. My parents are probably richer than the
whole Royal Family. And I’m a stripper, so I make more money than I know what to do with.
That’s why I always walk here. I drive a Porsche. And who the fuck cares about the problems
of a person who drives a Porsche?”

With every word, Minnie’s eyebrows rise a little higher on her forehead.

“All I want right now is to go home, get ready, and go out. There’s a club I always used to go
to. I went back two weeks ago, and I know if I go back tonight, I could be high as a kite in
less than ten minutes. And then everything would feel better, you know? I wouldn’t be me.”
 “Is that what you want? To be someone else?”

“It’d be nice, yeah. The person I am when I’m high doesn’t care about anything or anyone.
No one hurts them.”

Minnie purses her lips. “Maybe no one hurts them, but who do they hurt?”

The answer comes to him immediately. They’re the reason he’s here at all—Barty, Evan, Lily,
Pandora, Dorcas, Marlene. But there’s a new name said in a smaller voice, so quiet he almost
doesn’t catch it.

Regulus.

“Do I have to talk?” he asks in a rush.

“No. You can talk if and when you’re ready. No one is going to force you to do or say
anything you don’t want to.”

“So it’s my choice? If I don’t talk today, that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

Regulus scratches his bicep through the thick sleeve of his jumper. He shifts his weight from
foot to foot, staring at the entrance of the community center like it’ll eat him alive if he goes
anywhere near it.

“Right then. I’m rather late, and I can’t let them think this is a habit of mine.” Minnie pushes
off the wall, but she doesn’t turn away. Instead, she asks, “Maybe next time?”

“No,” Regulus says quickly, taking one step forward. Then another. And another, until he’s
closer to the entrance than he is to Minnie. “Not next time. Today.”

Minnie smiles and says, “Alright. After you, then.”

Swallowing the last of his trepidation, Regulus pulls open the door to the community center
and steps inside.

Chapter End Notes

so the title of this chapter being "sunset in the maze" is very important because when i
originally looked up the lyrics for this song wayyyyy back when i was brainstorming
which lyrics to put on which chapters, i knew this would be the post-relapse/brothers
lyric. when i looked up the meaning for this line, it basically said that "sunset in the
maze" is a sign of something you think is ending but you're actually still stuck in it.
"sunset" is the end of a day, so false affirmation you're moving on and healing when in
truth, you still have to sort through the maze (aka pain) you're stuck in. and when the
"sun sets in the maze," you have a harder time getting out bc the light is gone. and the
line before this is "you'll run, but you'll never escape," so tl;dr you can try to get away
(in reg's case, using drugs/partying), but you'll still be stuck in the maze in the end.

anyway, Sirius is here! the brothers are... yeah, they're complicated 🫠 this was never
meant to be a black and white situation. Regulus has proven themself to be an unreliable
narrator in a LOT of ways. we're in their head, but they hide so much (in part because
they hide so much from themself, too). i think some people will expect some tragic
circumstance, but it's really just...human beings. it's hurt and years of pain and trauma
they've developed after so long in Grimmauld Place. neither of them did the right thing
or the wrong thing. they just did the best they could. and there's something deeply tragic
to me about losing ten years to manipulative parents and assumptions they helped foster.

and Regulus finally going in <3 they don't talk — and they won't for some time — but
baby steps. teeny tiny ones! growth doesn't happen overnight. it takes time. but we're
getting there and they're healing. because they could've gone the opposite direction and
headed back to their flat, but they made the choice to go the other way and head back for
the community center. and Minnie !! i love her <3 i wasn't sure for a while who to make
the meeting leader, but i'm a big Minnie softie. and i think Reg would find some comfort
in her presence because she's firm, but gentle. and that's what Regulus needs right now.

also, if you're someone who read the canon divergent Regulus character study i started

😭
but took down a bit ago... then you know where "how are the stars tonight?" comes from
and when i was writing these scenes, i knew it belonged in this one, too. it hurts, but
it's a question that comes back around soon...

right! i hope you liked it! there's definitely more in this chapter that i could discuss until

😭
my tongue falls out of my mouth, but i've spent the last week and a half battling it out
with this beast. the brothers are too important to me not to give them my all

see you in the next one, and thank you for your lovely comments! they're my favorite to
read <3

a little note — there will indeed be a James POV. it'll be a one shot (not a new chapter),

POV since Ch 1 and i finally figured out how 😭

so reading it isn't required to enjoy the rest of this story. but i've wanted to write a James
it primarily takes place during Ch 15-
18, but has flashbacks to key scenes and moments between him and Regulus pre-Ch 15
(some that are familiar, and some that are all new because they're important to James).
it'll drop before Ch 19!
 been some dark days lately and i’m finding it crippling
Chapter Notes

not in the way you expect 👀

if you've read contrapasso, then there'll be a familiar face in this one... though perhaps
also i've written sooooo much of these last few chapters to
CHIHIRO by Billie Eilish like her new album really makes me dklfajd but this song
specifically gives cmu reggie so,, their song i guess lol also sorry for the wait! it's been a
busy week with lots of running around, and i was feeling a little creatively exhausted
after Ch 18 & James' POV back to back. the breather was needed <3

which, if you missed it, i also wrote James' POV of Ch 15-18 <3 but a slight heads up:
Reg is still using he/him in their own narrative (for now). we'll start to see a he/they
transition in upcoming chapters (and they/them by the epilogue), but just so it isn't
jarring since James used they/them for Reg in his POV.

enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus begins to measure time in good days and bad days. Thankfully, the former slowly
begin to outweigh the latter.

He spends his first meeting at the community center sitting in the very last row and as far
away from everyone as possible. He’s hyper aware that he looks like an absolute mess, he’s
still reeling from his conversation with Sirius, and his knee won’t stop bouncing. It makes the
chair squeak if he doesn’t sit in a very specific way.

But he’s here. He made it.

That’s enough, right?

On his way out of the center, he meets Minnie’s gaze from across a sea of plastic chairs.
She’s busy chatting with someone who spoke today, but she still offers him a small, pleased
smile. He returns it with a tiny wave. He didn’t stand at the front to share his tale, but he
listened. Learned a few names. Realized a handful of their stories might even be similar to
his.

It’s made him feel a little less alone even if he can’t admit this to the room.

He calls Barty on the walk back to his flat.

“I went inside,” he says in lieu of a proper greeting, which earns him a confused grunt.
“Inside the center,” he clarifies. “I haven’t been going in. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t
want you to be disappointed that I couldn’t go in so I just smoked cigarettes the whole hour
and then walked home, but I went in today. I sat in the back and I didn’t talk to anyone but—
but I went in. Today.”

Barty is silent for a long, weighted moment. Regulus doesn’t breathe. His lungs burn from
lack of oxygen, but the line is too quiet. His stomach drops out of his ass and onto the
pavement. Maybe he should’ve stuck with the story he’s been telling since the first failed
meeting. What good is the truth if everyone will only be—

“I’m proud of you.”

Regulus comes to a screeching halt. “What did you say?”

“I said that I’m proud of you, because you went in and you’re telling someone about it.”
Regulus hears the sound of a zipper on the other end. He caught Barty before his shift. “You
could’ve kept up the lie and never admitted you weren’t going in. None of us were
suspicious. Unfortunately, you can be a very convincing liar.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you decided not to keep lying. You were honest.”

“Yeah, I was.”

Barty chuckles under his breath. “It’s a good thing, Reg. This is how I trust you again. It’s
how we all trust you again. How was the meeting?”

“Fine. Good. There were about fifteen people there. Only a few of them talked. Some seemed
new like me, but others got up there and shared stories about how they’ve been struggling. It
was nice.” Regulus squints up at the dreary sky. “Well, not nice. Their stories are shitty. But it
was nice to feel…seen, I guess.”

“I know you think you’re the only person who has ever suffered, but you’re not. It’s probably
good for you to realize that. What made you go inside today?”

Regulus starts walking again. He chews on his bottom lip until it nearly splits. He’s told one
truth, but can he tell another? Seeing Sirius for the first time in ten years still doesn’t feel like
a real thing that happened to him. Perhaps he dreamt it.

“Reg,” Barty says lowly, his words followed by the jingle of keys. “You’re being too quiet.”

Does he tell Barty? This is his best friend. Someone he trusts with anything and everything,
no questions asked. He was always closer to Barty even when it was the three of them. Evan
is a rock, but Barty is a tall, solid wall. It’s what made their relationship easy; Barty could
withstand the weight of two, which is not something many can manage without toppling over
themselves.

“Reg.”

“I talked to Sirius.”
Prolonged silence—again.

“Barty?”

A strangled, somewhat pained sound. “Yeah, sorry, I just… Sorry, but—what the actual fuck?
Did you just say…?”

“Sirius,” Regulus repeats, turning the corner onto his street. “He came to my flat a few hours
ago. We went to the diner down the road and had milkshakes.”

“I—Huh? Why are you saying all of this as if it’s completely normal and ordinary?”

“Because if I think too hard about it then I won’t go to work tonight. I’ll go out. That is why I
finally went in today. I knew that if I didn’t, I was going to go get high instead.”

Barty blows air past his lips. Keys jingle, then a car door slams. “Okay. Fine. Fair enough.
That’s good you… Yeah, okay. How was it though? Seeing Sirius, I mean?”

“It was…” Regulus racks his brain for a word that feels fitting, but very few come to mind. In
the end, he settles on: “Weird.”

“I imagine seeing your estranged brother for the first time in ten years might be a bit weird,
yeah.”

“I just mean that he’s changed, I’ve changed, but nothing has really changed at all. He’s still
Sirius. I’m still Regulus. Ten years is a long time, but all I was thinking by the end was that I
want to be his little brother again. I’m sure things are different, but maybe that’s okay. I don’t
know. I’m just spit balling here and you’re not saying anything which is freaking me out.”

“Wow, Reg. One NA meeting and you’re practically as deep as fucking Shakespeare.”

“Fuck off.” Regulus unlocks his front door and kicks off his Docs in the entryway. “But I did
do a lot of thinking while I was listening to other people’s stories. There were so many who
talked about estranged family members. Brothers, sisters, parents… And I just kept thinking,
‘Sirius gave me his number. I could have my brother back, if I wanted to. I can have what
these people can’t.’”

Barty’s car starts, and his voice comes through slightly garbled. “It’s been ten years, Reg.
Can you really forgive that?”

“No. But I don’t think Sirius is asking me to forgive him… He’s a little mad at me, too.”

“Why? You did nothing wrong.”

Regulus sucks air through his teeth. “Not exactly true.”

“Will you ever give a full answer to any question I ask?”

He drifts from the entryway to the kitchen for a glass of water, then to his room. His textbook
still lies forgotten in the middle of his bed, and the three sets he picked for tonight are lined
up along the edge. Quietly, he admits, “I had Remus’ address this whole time. I could’ve
found Sirius easier than he could’ve found me.”

Barty swears rather colorfully. “As usual, you’re like a fucking onion. Full of layers and
secrets and all sorts of other shit. Why didn’t you ever tell us that?”

“I think it was easier for me to hate Sirius if I made it all his fault.”

“So, what? Are you going to reach out to him just like that?”

“No, not yet. I need some time to sort this all out. He said he’ll be there, so…” Regulus heads
into the bathroom. He turns on the shower and quickly sheds his joggers. “Why? What do
you think I should do?”

Barty sniffs, taking his time to weigh his answer. “I think you should do whatever you think
feels best. Sirius is your family. No one else’s. A part of me wants to strangle him for the last
ten years and what it did to you, but a part of me wants to strangle you now, too. You let us
all believe Sirius left without a trace.”

“I told you it was easier for me.”

“Was it? Don’t make me call Lily. She’ll remind you of exactly how not easy these last five
or so years have been for you. And that’s just in the time we’ve been friends. I can’t imagine
the rest.”

Regulus puts Barty on speaker and sets his phone on the counter. He pulls his jumper over his
head, tossing it in a pile on the floor with his joggers. “I think you should stop spending so
much time with her. She’s rubbing off on you. You’re being so level-headed these days.”

“The alternative is strangling you. Is that what you want?”

“It would be kinda hot. Don’t you think?”

“No.” Barty pauses, then sighs in defeat. “Who am I kidding? Yes, it would be. Fuck you.”

Regulus’ laugh echoes off the walls. Steam fills the air, and his mirror slowly fogs over until
his reflection is little more than a pale blur. “I’ll see you at work tonight. Gotta shower.”

“Alright. I mean it though, Reg. I’m proud of you. So are Evan, Lily, Pandora, Marlene,
Dorcas… You’re allowed to trip sometimes. We’ll help you get back up.”

“Oh, now you’re just being gross and sentimental. Don’t do that. I preferred the sexual
innuendos.”

“I hate you.”

Regulus makes an obnoxious kissing noise close to the phone. “It’s literally impossible for
anyone to hate me, but it’s cute you wanted to try.”

“Fu—”
“Bye!” He ends the call before Barty can finish, then shimmies out of his briefs and steps
under the hot shower spray.

I’m proud of you.

He didn’t say thank you—maybe he should have—but it’s nice to hear. It feels good to hear.
Like instead of disappointing everyone (again), he’s finally proving to them that he can pick
himself up. He’s not sure if he’s the right person to stand in front of a group and say, Hi, I’m
Regulus, and I’m an addict, but he doesn’t mind listening to others share their stories.

Then there’s Sirius, who Regulus really did spend most of the meeting thinking about. He
played their conversation on a loop, pausing and rewinding and fast forwarding at will. He
meant what he said to Barty: it’s as though everything and nothing has changed. Sirius is still
Sirius, and Regulus is still Regulus, but ten years are a chasm between them that was once
uncrossable.

There’s a bridge now.

It’s rickety, built by inexperienced and desperate hands—but it’s a bridge that wasn’t there
before. Sirius stands at the halfway point with a hand outstretched. It will be on Regulus to
decide if he wants to risk it or stay safe on solid ground. The problem is, if he and Sirius
survive the crossing, who do they have to thank?

No, that’s not right. Who does Regulus have to thank?

Because a bridge is still a bridge, no matter how poor the materials that made it.

He leans against the cold tile and drops his head back, closing his eyes with a groan. He’s
thankful Barty didn’t ask about James even though he doesn’t expect him to. Barty knows it’s
still an open wound. All of his friends do. But Regulus, ever the masochist, can’t resist
poking his finger in and twisting so it hurts a little extra tonight.

It’s been two weeks since he left James behind in Paris. He doesn’t want to wonder what
James plans to do with his Saturday night, but he can’t help it. James used to spend every
Saturday with Regulus in his lap or watching him dance. And after James wasn’t allowed to
come to the club, he spent every Saturday waiting for Regulus to finish his shift and walk
through the front door.

So what is James doing now?

He could be in his flat. At the office. With Sirius. Out. It’s not like Regulus asked Sirius the
most pressing question on his tongue: Has James slept with someone else? Regulus’ skin still
feels wrong sometimes. There were too many greedy hands on him that didn’t belong to
James. It might lessen his regret to know James touched someone else with hands meant for
him.

Turnabout is fair play, after all.

But the thought makes him sick to his stomach. He makes an aggravated noise and reaches
for his body wash. Thinking about James in bed with someone else will ruin his good mood.
And who is he to care? He slept with two men not twenty-four hours after they broke up.
Good for James if he—

“No. Nope. Absolutely not,” Regulus says out loud to his empty shower. “Not good for him.”
He scrubs his skin, then grabs his razor. He has to shave the hair that’s grown too long these
past two weeks. The last thing he needs to hear tonight is more of Riddle’s bitching. Besides,
the monotonous motion helps him quiet his mind.

He misses dancing. There’s familiarity in his mastered routines. He’ll spin and twist himself
around the pole. Lean into the music. And maybe it’ll be good. According to Barty and Evan,
he has regulars who’ve asked about him. Money in his pocket will be nice. Productive, even.

He had structure once—school, work, school, friends, work, school, friends… He can build
that familiar structure again. He can be Regulus the way he was before. He isn’t sure yet how
Sirius will factor in, but his brother isn’t a problem for tonight.

So Regulus gets ready the same way he always does, packs his work bag with the bruise-
colored outfits, and takes a deep, bracing breath before heading out the door.

“You should know you have good taste.”

Regulus glances up from his phone to look fully at the bookstore cashier. He slowly pulls the
mouth of his coffee cup away from his lips. “You’ve read these?”

“Oh, yeah.” The cashier grins broadly. “I’m applying to PhD programs right now. My
proposed research is focused on sexuality and queer theory in classic lit.” He scans Regulus’
books, holding them up one by one as he explains. “Divine Comedy? There’s some
interesting stuff in here about Dante’s thoughts on whether or not he perceived homosexuality
to be a sin. Dorian Gray? Queer lit classic. Maurice? Definitely a—” He stops abruptly,
flushing crimson. “You didn’t ask for a monologue on this. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Regulus pockets his phone in his jeans and waves a dismissive hand.
“Keep going. You’re clearly passionate about it.”

Regulus takes in the cashier slowly. His name tag reads Noah in bold, block print. He’s
dressed in a simple black T-shirt, his dark brown hair is kept in a messy bun, and his eyes are
bright green. He’s tall, and handsome, and clearly from France if his accent is anything to go
by.

Curious, Regulus asks, “Êtes-vous Français?”

Noah’s eyes brighten immediately. “Oui. Je suis né à Lyon. Et vous?”

“Paris. Je parle pas trop français ces jours-ci…”

“You should,” Noah says emphatically, placing Regulus’ books in a canvas bag. “Your voice
changes when you speak French. It sounds lovely. A bit like music.”

Regulus arches a brow, and Noah blushes crimson again.

“J’aurais du la fermer,” he mutters, tapping the screen furiously.

“No, it’s okay,” Regulus assures him with a quiet laugh. “It’s cute. Personally, though? I like
your voice when you speak English. The accent is adorable.”

Noah blushes again. He doesn’t pass the canvas bag full of books across the counter yet.
Instead, he says, “Can I ask you a question?”

“If I answer, do I get the books I just paid for?”

“Shit. Yes. Right. Sorry. Here.” Noah finally offers the canvas bag, but he still doesn’t let it
go. “My shift ends in five minutes. Do you maybe want to get dinner? I would ask you out
for coffee, but you already have a cup of that… And there’s a place nearby. Good dumplings.
I know it’s a Tuesday, but if you’re free, then maybe you wouldn’t mind—”

“Do you want me to wait outside or in the café?” Regulus interrupts, unable to stop himself
from smiling. It feels nice to have someone flirt with him. To watch someone blush a furious
shade of red every few seconds. “That was a yes, by the way.”

Noah breathes a noticeable sigh of relief. “The café is fine. You don’t have to wait outside.
Give me ten minutes and I’ll come find you. What’s your name?”

“Regulus.”

“Oh. That’s a gorgeous name. I’m Noah.”

Regulus jerks his chin at the name tag on Noah’s chest. “Figured that much.”

“Right. Yeah. Name tag.” Noah blushes again, and Regulus’ smile broadens.

“See you soon, Noah.”

Regulus has no idea what he’s doing. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have a meeting at the
community center today. There’s no need for him to rush home, change, and walk ten
minutes to a nondescript building. He has new books he’s yet to read but will surely devour,
and a cute guy wants to take him on a date.

This is good.

This is normal.

This is getting back on the horse or whatever the hell it is they say about moving on.
Shortly after six, Noah appears wearing a shy smile. “Still good with dumplings?”

“Works for me.”

The restaurant Noah brings him to isn’t very busy, but the crowd picks up speed the longer
they’re sitting down. The food is good. The conversation is stimulating. Regulus can’t
complain. Noah is twenty-nine, bisexual, a fan of Tim Burton movies with a guilty pleasure
for romcoms. He has yet to watch Game of Thrones or House of the Dragon, which Regulus
finds mildly disappointing but doesn’t say out loud.

Change is good.

Change is normal.

Change is going to keep him from making the same mistake twice.

“So Dante and Wilde, huh? Your usual?” Noah asks, popping a dumpling in his mouth.

“Not really, but I felt like breaking away from my usual.”

“And what about immediate first dates with someone you’ve just met? Are those your
usual?”

Regulus rests his chin on his fist and regards Noah with curiosity. “Are they yours?”

“Do you usually answer questions with more questions?”

“Do you?”

Noah laughs loud enough the table next to them cuts a sidelong glare in their direction. “I’m
glad I asked you out.”

“You should be glad I said yes.” Regulus can’t help but laugh when Noah sputters, but no
disagreement comes.

They talk for a little under two hours before Noah snatches the bill when it’s left on their
table. Regulus puts up a small fight, but he relents in the end. Noah is nice, his smile is warm,
and maybe this is all Regulus needs for now.

Outside of the restaurant, they both linger. It’s nearly half past eight. Regulus should hop on a
train and head for his station. He has an early lecture tomorrow morning and a meeting with
his professor after lunch. Then he’ll have to rush back to his flat so he can make the walk to
the community center.

But rather than walk away, Regulus lets Noah curl a finger under his chin, tilt his face up, and
kiss him.

It’s a nice kiss. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. In fact, it’s a good kiss. Noah is a
great kisser, and his lips are soft and plush. They don’t demand any more than Regulus gives,
which is…nice.
Desperate to feel something, anything, Regulus trails his tongue over Noah’s bottom lip.
Maybe this will be the spark, the shift in the ground he stands on. But when Noah opens for
him with a soft, surprised little noise as the kiss deepens, Regulus feels absolutely fucking
nothing.

He searches, rolling his tongue over Noah’s and allowing himself to be pulled in by strong
arms around his waist. They’re on the pavement right outside the restaurant, but Regulus tries
hopelessly to lose himself in this kiss. It’s good. It’s warm and experienced and he should feel
more than what he does.

Which is empty.

Nothing.

No fire burns through him. There’s no desire in his veins.

It’s just a kiss.

And yet, when they break apart and Noah whispers, “This might be way too forward of me,
but my flat is just around the corner,” Regulus still somehow hears himself say, “I like
forward. Lead the way.”

He shouldn’t.

But Noah is nice, and a good kisser, and something must be very, very wrong with Regulus if
he feels so little from such a nice kiss. Noah’s hand placement is fantastic, for fuck’s sake.
Regulus loves when there’s a hand on his neck and a thumb under his chin and there’s that
firm, steady hold to keep him in still.

He loves it—when James does it.

The thought hits him brutal and true when he steps inside Noah’s flat. It’s little more than a
bed and a kitchenette, with a tiny living space and an equally small bathroom. Regulus
disappears inside it with a believable excuse that he needs a second to get ready. The truth is
he needs a second to breathe.

He shouldn’t think about James when he’s in someone else’s flat. He’s certainly not here for a
drink and a chat. It’s been hypocritical of him to hope James spends his nights alone the way
Regulus does, especially when he’s about to slip between someone else’s sheets.

But the thought of James with someone else—of his hands cupping another face while he
kisses a different pair of lips—is enough to push Regulus back out into Noah’s flat. He can be
this Regulus again, who keeps a roster on rotation and doesn’t linger in any bed for too long.
No attachments. No strings. Acquaintances.

When Noah kisses him this time, it’s more fevered than before. It’s a hand buried in Regulus’
curls while another rests on his lower back to urge him forward. It’s a few steps back until
Noah’s knees hit the mattress and he falls, bringing Regulus down on top of him. It’s two
shirts tugged overhead, a scramble to unbutton and unzip their jeans, and skin on skin when
they come back together.

It’s emptiness.

Two and a half weeks have passed since Regulus last had sex. Considering how often he had
it while with James, he’s pent up and in need of release. His own hand in the mornings when
he first wakes is fine, but it’s nothing compared to another body.

Like his kisses, Noah isn’t bad at this, either. He eases into Regulus from behind, an arm
looped around his waist and the other loosely fisted around his cock. “Fuck, you’re tight,”
Noah murmurs with a low groan, kissing the curve of Regulus’ shoulder. “Got lucky with
you.”

Regulus reaches up to curve a hand to the shape of Noah’s skull. He lets his head loll on
Noah’s shoulder as pleasure takes hold. Noah is smaller than James. Less girthy and lacking
that slight left curve. When Regulus slept with Fabian and Gideon, he was too high to pay
much attention to the differences. But fully sober? He notices.

At least there’s more feeling in this than in a kiss. His body reacts with a jolt of electricity
when the head of Noah’s cock angles just right inside him, but it isn’t exactly what he’s
searching for. Fire curls tendrils around his spine and his stomach pulls tight, Noah’s hand
working him in tandem with sharp, controlled thrusts—but it’s not enough.

“Harder,” he breathes, dropping forward to press his face into a pillow that smells of spice
and tea tree. He crosses his wrists behind his back, grateful he doesn’t have to ask before
Noah takes them in one hand. But even when he gasps, “Faster,” it doesn’t quite dig deep
enough.

He needs someone who will fuck him harder, nastier, a little bit meaner. Maybe then he’ll
find what it is he’s searching for.

Sweat clings to his skin. He closes his eyes. God, what he wouldn’t give to hear so good for
me, Princess whispered low and velvety soft in his ear. You take me like a dream and look
like one when you do it.

Noah is quiet. Focused on the task at hand. But James would talk him through this. He would
haul Regulus upright and curve a hand around his throat. Ask, What do you want, baby?
What do you need? And Regulus would tell him on a stuttering breath, To break.

James could make him see stars. A whole galaxy if he felt like it. He’d press his thumb to the
side of Regulus’ throat until Regulus’ vision began to blacken, and then it was oxygen in a
rush and everything felt better. Heightened and so good he’d beg for more, for again, papi,
please, and James’ hips would break rhythm for only a moment before Regulus got what he
asked for.

His orgasm rips through him hard, fast, and without warning. It slams him back to the bed
he’s in that smells all wrong. To the body against his that isn’t the right shape. That isn’t
James who groans, falling forward on top of him in a heavy, sweaty mess. It isn’t James who
looses a disbelieving laugh.

Regulus wants to crawl out of his skin.

Fucking hell. What is wrong with him? He can’t cry here. Noah will get the wrong idea and
it’ll be a mess and embarrassing and damn it. Why didn’t he just go home?

Noah rolls off of him. The mattress shifts. The bed creaks. He hears the sound of a condom
pulled off, a wrapper snatched from a small nightstand. Regulus eases onto his stomach, gaze
fixated on the wall not even an arm’s length from him. Then he rolls onto his back and stares
up at the ceiling, blinking back tears while Noah is still in the bathroom.

Nothing.

He feels absolutely fucking nothing.

Except crippling sadness. Regret. A hole in his chest where his heart is supposed to beat. But
the space behind his ribs is so, so empty. It has been for two and a half weeks.

“You alright?” asks Noah, appearing with two glasses of water and a slight furrow between
his brows. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

Regulus resists the urge to say in a biting tone, Not rough enough, actually. Instead, he says,
“I’m fine. Still coming down. It was good.”

This seems to stroke Noah’s ego well enough that he leaves the rest alone. He hands Regulus
one of the glasses of water, then sits on the edge of the bed. He’s still naked and clearly in no
rush to get dressed. But when he moves to lie back, to reach for touch, Regulus shifts away.

“Do you mind if I…?” He gestures to the bathroom, then at the lube glistening on the insides
of his thighs.

“Yeah, of course. Go ahead.”

Regulus scrambles out of bed, but Noah grabs his wrist before he can move too far away.

“Do you want me to come with you? We can—”

“No,” Regulus answers too quickly. He offers Noah a small smile to lessen the blow. “I prefer
to shower alone. Thanks, though.”

“Sure. Let me know if you need anything.”

It’s a tiny bathroom with an even tinier shower. Regulus bangs his elbows on the wall
multiple times, swearing under his breath when pain shoots through his arm. He scrubs until
his skin is pink. His thoughts won’t stop spiraling out of his control. Now that James is out of
the box Regulus put him in, there’s no escaping every damned thought he’s tried to shove
down.
Sirius showing up at his front door only made it worse. It won’t get out of his head, that
sentence uttered like a throwaway: James is… He’s not… Well, he’s not talking. To anyone.

It has to be a lie. James not talking? Ridiculous. His favorite thing in the world is talking to
people. Regulus has had to draw him away from conversations that went on and on more
times than he can count. James would talk to anyone who listened for as long as they allowed
him to prattle on. Which was usually an exhaustingly long amount of time, because James is
so bloody charming that everyone wants to listen to him.

So why isn’t he talking now?

The more Regulus scrubs—and bangs his elbows on the shower wall—the more he accepts
why he felt nothing with Noah. It’s an ugly pill to take, but take it he does. Because it’s the
same reason he felt nothing with Fabian and Gideon. With Connor. With Benjy.

How many men will Regulus have to sleep with before he isn’t biting down on his tongue to
swallow James’ name? Will there ever be a day when he doesn’t have to imagine James
fucking him in order to trick his body into an orgasm?

What a fucking mess he’s gotten himself into.

When Regulus finally emerges from the small bathroom, he’s fully dressed. Noah is still
naked and lounging against his headboard. He’s busy scrolling on his phone, distracted until
he realizes Regulus is watching him.

“Oh,” he says, taking in Regulus’ clothes. “Are you leaving?”

Regulus tries not to flinch at the blatant disappointment in Noah’s voice. “Yeah, I have an
early morning class and a few meetings tomorrow, so it’s probably better that I head back to
my flat. It’s getting late.”

“Right. Of course. No worries.” Noah gets to his feet and tugs on a pair of briefs. He
alternates his weight from foot to foot, standing awkwardly in the middle of his tiny flat.
“Can I call you? Text you? Or was this a one-time thing?”

“Do you want to call me? Text me?”

Noah’s nose bunches slightly. “Can I be honest?”

“That’d be nice, yeah.”

“I want to see you again. It doesn’t have to be anything big, and we don’t have to have sex
again if that’s… It’s not really my usual, but I couldn’t really help myself. You’re just so…
Well, you.” Noah rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Feel free to stop me at any time.”

He’s endearing. It’s enough to send a pang of regret through Regulus. He shouldn’t leave so
quickly. It sends the wrong message, and he doesn’t mean to fuck and leave like this. But his
head feels like it’s going to explode; there’s too much in it, and he needs fresh air.
“We can get coffee,” he finally says. “Call or text me. You have my number. I’m usually
free.”

Noah visibly relaxes. “Okay, I’ll text you. Thanks for the date. It was a lot of fun. And…
Well, you know.”

Regulus grabs his canvas bag full of new books and his messenger bag off the floor. “Yeah,
you too. Talk soon?”

“Definitely. Hey, do you want me to—”

“No, it’s fine. I can walk to the station. Thanks, though.”

Regulus lets himself out. His throat is too tight. It’s difficult to gulp air into his lungs. He
rushes from the small building and down concrete steps to the pavement below. His breaths
come in shallow, quick gasps, and he realizes too late that he’s crying.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Do not cry.
This is pathetic.”

But his emotions are clearly unconcerned with keeping up appearances, because he cries
anyway. It’s nothing Noah did. He was the perfect gentleman, and Regulus went willingly.
He could’ve said no. Gone home. But he didn’t, and now everything fucking hurts.

Regulus leans against a low brick wall and inhales a shuddering breath. His lungs burn. He
needs to get it together before he boards a train. People will stare. Point. Be curious. His curls
are still wet and dripping all over his shoulders. God, he looks like a mess—again.

Barty.

Evan.

Lily.

Pandora.

Dorcas.

Marlene.

Sirius.

Sniffling, he pulls his phone from his pocket. Opens the Contacts app. Scrolls, scrolls, scrolls,
until—

Sirius Black
His thumb hovers over the call button.

What will he say?

You should know that I’m a mess. Do you want a mess for a brother? Do you even want
someone like me in your picture perfect life?

Regulus probably seemed well-adjusted and fine when they were sat in an empty diner with
nothing but two milkshakes and ten years between them. Of course Sirius would say he still
loves Regulus and will be there if Regulus calls. He doesn’t know Regulus.

And maybe it’s for the better that he doesn’t. His life is good. He’s married. Successful.
Happy. He has Remus and James and Peter and Mary and Emmeline and Frank and Alice
and…

He doesn’t need Regulus to mess everything up.

Regulus calls Pandora instead.

“Reggie?” she asks, confusion coloring her voice. “Are you alright?”

“I want to forget about him.”

“Are you home?”

“No.”

Slight panic replaces confusion. “Are you out?”

“Sort of.”

“Where?”

“Near school. I’m not far from a station but it—it goes two ways. My station and King’s
Cross.”

Pandora makes a quiet noise. “Reggie. Come over. Lily is here. We can watch a movie.”

“It’s past ten.”

“I don’t care. Come over. Did you talk to Barty?”

“No.”

“Evan?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Just come over. Do you want ice cream? We have that.”
Regulus forces his feet to take him in the direction of the train station. “Mint chocolate
chip?”

“Think so, yeah. If not, we’ll get some. Are you coming over?”

“Yeah. I’ll send you my location.”

Pandora breathes a soft sigh of relief. “Okay. See you soon, Reggie. Love you.”

He ends the call.

The train station is busier than he expects, but he manages to catch the next train headed for
Pandora’s closest station. Unfortunately, he cries silently in the back of a car despite his best
efforts.

Thankfully, no one seems to even notice he’s there.

Regulus sits in a straddle split on Barty and Evan’s living room floor. On the other side of the
coffee table, Barty sits cross-legged. There’s a bag of money on the table, and they’ve been
meticulously binding £5, £10, and £20 notes for the last thirty minutes. They share smug
looks any time one of them comes across a £50 note in the pile.

It’s Friday Film Night, but after their shift ended shortly before three in the morning last
night, neither of them were particularly keen on counting money. A machine sits on the
vanity in every dressing room, but there’s something mindless—and very rewarding—about
counting the money into £100 piles that are then bound into £1,000 stacks.

“I should’ve been a stripper,” Lily grumbles from where she sits on the couch, watching them
count bank notes. “Why did I decide to be a therapist? No one pays us. Seriously. What the
hell? How much did you two make last night?”

“It was a partner set,” Barty explains, snapping a rubber band around another £1,000 stack.
“We make more money when we do them. And it’s been a while, so our regulars were
excited.”

Regulus nods his agreement. “All the money on the stage is swept into a bag that we split
fifty-fifty, and whatever is put in our G-strings we keep for ourselves. We can usually average
around four thousand pounds each.”

“This is insane,” Lily says, gaze fixated on the bank notes.

“We were up there all night and there were big fish in the audience. We made a lot. Way more
than usual.” Barty winks at her, then reaches into the bag for more money. “Need something,
Lils? We’ll spoil you. Anything you want.”
“Anything?”

“Within reason,” Regulus warns, cutting her a pointed look.

“Oh, please,” Barty says with a dramatic eye roll. “I saw how many fifties you had that were
just for you. It’s not fucking fair. You’re too—too pretty. Gets all of the bi men confused and
fumbling in their wallets. They mean to grab a five and hand you a fifty instead. It’s
criminal.”

Regulus grins from ear to ear. “You’re just jealous.”

“Oh, am I being that obvious about it?” Barty’s tone is dry. He rolls his eyes again and snaps
a rubber band around a finished £100 stack. “Not bloody fair, I say. Ballet made you too
bendy and genetics made you too pretty. Me? I look like I get into pub fights.”

Evan appears in the living room with two beers. He hands one to Barty, then runs his fingers
through wild black locks to tug Barty’s head back. “That’s because you do get into pub fights,
darling.”

“It was one time. And I was defending your honor.”

“You broke a man’s arm.”

“And I would do it again,” Barty replies haughtily, punctuating his sentence with yet another
rubber band snap. “My point is that Regulus made fucking bank last night. But I suppose
they’ll need to now that they’ve got some new boy toy to bat around…”

Regulus startles and slams a hand on the table, sending bank notes fluttering to the floor.
“Barty,” he hisses, leaning forward. “You were supposed to keep that quiet!”

“Was I? Huh. Must’ve forgotten that bit. Gone a bit stupid from all this cash. Anyway, his
name is Noah and Regulus fucked him silly.” Barty snickers when five people erupt in
unison.

“New boy toy?” asks Dorcas and Marlene at the same time Pandora and Lily shout, “You did
what?!”

Evan merely laughs like he’s known Regulus’ secret this entire time.

“It’s nothing,” Regulus mumbles, glaring at his best friend across the table. He flips his
middle finger in the air, then adds a second for good measure. “Just some guy I met at the
bookstore the other day. We got dinner.”

“Right. And then they fucked.”

“Barty. Shut the fuck up.”

Barty simply blows him a kiss, laughing again when Evan smacks the back of his head.

“Over James just like that?” Marlene asks dubiously, sitting on the sofa next to Lily.
“The opposite, actually,” Evan answers. He sits on the floor beside Barty to help him count.
“Escapism doesn’t work, Reg.”

Regulus scowls, but before he can snap back a retort, Pandora speaks up.

“Do you really like him, though? This Noel guy?”

“Noah,” Regulus corrects with a defeated groan. “His name is Noah, and he’s nice.”

This earns him a chorus of groans.

“Nice?” Dorcas echoes from her seat in one of the bar stools. She taps her chin in mock
contemplation. “When did we last hear them say ‘nice,’ guys?”

“Connor,” answers Barty.

“Benjy,” answers Lily.

“That one American who said ‘bro’ all of the time,” offers Marlene, scrunching her nose in
distaste. “Was his name Brian? Dave?”

“And don’t forget the summer roster,” Pandora pipes up, nudging Dorcas with a crooked grin.
“Barely learned their names before Reggie was on to the next.”

Regulus folds his arms on the table’s edge and drops his head down, groaning as dramatically
as he can manage. “You don’t have to make me sound like such a slut, you know.”

Barty snorts. “You kinda were, Reg. But that’s not a bad thing. We support you. What you do
in the bedroom is your business. But are you really going back to men that are ‘nice’? You
hated that.”

“It’s something to do for now.”

“Because you miss James and don’t want to admit it?” asks Dorcas bluntly.

Regulus snaps his head up to glare at her. “I don’t miss him.”

“Liar,” his friends singsong collectively.

“You know I still want to kick James’ ass,” Barty says, shifting to lean against the couch
between Lily and Marlene so Evan can take over. “But after hearing about your conversation
with Sirius… Even I think you’re being a bit black and white about this. You can blame that
on Lils, though. She talked me off the ledge.”

“By the skin of my teeth.” Lily sips her margarita and knees Barty in the shoulder. “You were
plotting James’ murder for days.”

“Still have the plans just in case.”

“We expect nothing less from you. But honestly, Reg. We’ll be angry with James for as long
as you are angry with him. If you never forgive him, then neither will we. But you don’t have
to lie to us if you really do miss him.” Lily purses her lips, contemplating her next words.
“And I don’t really agree with you sleeping around again. Not because I’m slut shaming!
Don’t get that twisted. I just think it’ll… It’ll leave you emptier than it found you.”

Well.

Fuck.

Regulus shifts to bend his knee and pull his heel close to his groin. He doesn’t want to admit
that Lily is right. He felt empty when he left Noah’s on Tuesday night. When Pandora and
Lily asked, he merely told them something reminded him of James. But he sees them putting
the pieces together now, and Lily’s expression saddens the longer she dwells on exactly what
needed to be in her flat Tuesday night.

Him and Noah have texted here and there since, and Noah asked him out for coffee, but
Regulus isn’t entirely sure he wants to go. He’s a bit tired of feeling empty, if he’s honest.

He spends most of the meetings he attends at the community center lost in thoughts of his
brother. Sirius’ name in his phone makes the device feel ten times heavier than it really is.
Call him. Text him. Do something, he thinks from the moment he wakes to the moment he
falls asleep. He almost texted Sirius yesterday, but he chickened out.

Regulus isn’t an idiot. He’s aware that he’s using Noah as a distraction. If he doesn’t look too
long or hard at the Sirius- and James-shaped pieces in his life, then he can forget there are
missing parts of his puzzle.

Sirius is his brother. Has always been his brother. He’s missed having a sibling connection in
his life. He had it once; he knows what the loss of it feels like. It’s a hole that no one else can
fill. Barty will never be his brother. Neither will Evan. And for all of their love and care, the
girls will never be his sisters.

He can’t replace Sirius.

And James? One would hope he’s replaceable, but again—Regulus isn’t an idiot. He’s angry
and hurt and tired and wants nothing more than to forget about James Potter, but he knows he
won’t. He can’t. He sees James everywhere and in everything. The more time passes between
now and Paris, the less Regulus’ resolve remains strong.

If he reaches out to Sirius, he’ll have no more excuses to remain steadfast in his anger with
James. He’ll have crossed the bridge, and there will be gratitude. Of course there will be. But
how does he reconcile that? Perhaps this is the scariest part, and the one thing holding him
back.

“I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,” Lily says softly, pulling Regulus away from his thoughts.
He hadn’t realized he’s been staring blankly at the stacks of money in front of him. “We just
worry about you, Reg. Every time I’ve seen you this week you space out. Where do you go?”
“What if I text him?” Regulus blurts, leaning back against the couch.

“Who? James?”

“No. Sirius. What if I text him and decide to forgive him and—and then what? How do I stay
angry with James when the very thing I’m angry at him for becomes a moot point?”

Evan frowns at the stack of bank notes in his hands. “You can still be angry James lied to you
even if you talk to Sirius. And you don’t have to forgive anyone. Not right away.”

“Nothing happens overnight,” Marlene adds, sipping from Lily’s margarita. “But you have to
start somewhere if you want to figure this out. If you would rather let it go, that’s fine too.
But I think we all know you wouldn’t even be thinking about forgiveness if you wanted to
forget Sirius and James entirely.”

“Maybe we can start with a film,” Regulus says tentatively. He extends his leg to shift back
into a proper split, then gathers the last of the money he needs to count. His head is fit to
burst with too many conflicting thoughts. He needs a mindless task.

“Lils?” Dorcas asks, nodding to the remote on the sofa’s armrest. “Your night to choose.”

“Oh, goodie.” Lily snatches the remote before Barty can, cackling when he whines. “I
promise I’ll pick something good. Don’t I always?”

Regulus eventually ends up stretched out on the sofa with his head in Pandora’s lap and his
feet in Dorcas’. They watch two films—one romcom picked by Lily, and a horror film from
the ‘70s that Barty chooses. But Regulus hardly pays attention to either.

His thoughts are stuck on Sirius, on you don’t have to forgive anyone right away, and on a
bridge he never thought he would ever have the chance to cross—but does.

It’s nearly eleven p.m. when Regulus sits on the step in front of his door. He rolls one of his
last cigarettes between thumb and forefinger, flicking ash off the end when it burns for too
long. He came home fifteen minutes ago but couldn’t bring himself to go inside his flat.

Except for the nearly full moon overhead and the little lamp next to his front door, the only
light cutting through the chilly evening comes from his phone. His thumb lingers over the
call button.

Will Sirius even want to see him? It’s late. He might be tucked up in bed with Remus. What
if he’s furious that Regulus chose now of all times to reach out? But Regulus doesn’t keep
normal hours, and his courage only ever comes in tiny bursts.

This is the most courageous he’s felt in weeks.

Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, he hits the call button.

“Hello?” asks a voice after the third ring. It’s clear and awake. Curious. “Hello? Who’s this?”

Regulus brings the phone to his ear slowly, then whispers, “I can’t see them, Sirius.” His
fingers tighten around the edges until his knuckles ache. “I haven’t been able to see the stars
since you left.”

Sirius is quiet for such a long time that Regulus worries the line may have disconnected. But
then Sirius replies, “I haven’t been able to see them either.”

“I know it’s late, but…” Regulus brings the cigarette to his lips. His hands shake
imperceptibly. “Are you busy right now?”

“No, I’m at home. Remus is out with James, so I’m sitting on the couch. Watching Netflix.
Nothing special.”

“I was wondering if maybe…” Regulus squeezes his eyes shut. A ball forms in his throat, and
his next words come out in a rush. “I’m craving a milkshake, and it’s been a long time since I
went to look at the stars. So I was wondering, if I get the milkshakes, do you… Is there
somewhere we can go? To talk, I mean. Anywhere is fine. Just somewhere we can see the
stars. I have a car. We can sit on the hood. Or in the grass. Whichever. I don’t know. I don’t
go to parks that often.”

Sirius chuckles softly. “There’s Horsenden Hill near here, but I think that’ll be too far for
you. What about Primrose?” There’s the jingle of keys. A lock turned, and a door opened. “I
think that’s central for us both. I can also come to you, but I don’t know what’s in your area.”

“Not much, really,” Regulus admits. He opens his eyes and tilts his face to the sky. “Okay.
We can do Primrose Hill. It might take me longer to get there though, if that’s alright.”

“Don’t rush.”

“The milkshakes will probably melt.”

“You don’t have to get them. It’s not really about the milkshakes, is it?”

Regulus flicks the last bit of ash off his cigarette, stubs it on the concrete step, then gets to his
feet. “No,” he admits quietly. “I guess it’s not. See you there then?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m getting ready to leave right now.”

A beat.

Neither of them speak, each one waiting for the other.

The line is deathly silent.

Until Sirius asks, “Hey, Reg?”

 “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you called me.”

Regulus scuffs his toe on the ground. A small smile blooms, growing infinitesimally wider
with each passing second. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m glad I called you, too.”

Chapter End Notes

look! uphill trajectory! did i not promise an HEA?! it's slow moving but we are getting
closer to it. and the first step is a conversation between the brothers. Ch 20 will be a bit
emotional — we find out what Sirius has been up to, there's talk about their childhood,
gender, life the last ten years... it's raw and honest, but it's also hopeful. because none of
this solves everything, but it's a start. one foot in front of the other, y'know? starting
somewhere and building trust slowly... it doesn't happen overnight <3

anyway, some other things!

first, NOAH IS HERE 👀 if you haven't read contrapasso, then he's a stranger to you. if
you have, then just know that Noah is even more of a thorn in James' side in this
universe than he was in contrapasso. but Regulus needs to realize that this thing they're
"searching" for? yeah, that would be the feeling of sleeping with someone you love!
someone who matters! someone who knows you inside and out! it takes them a minute,
but they'll get it...

them Legos as an apology" Potter — and me, in tears over them both
doing fine!
🫠
but also: Regulus "i wonder what he's doing tonight" Black and James "i'm building
it's fine! we're

things i have feelings about:

- Barty saying "i'm/we're proud of you" and Regulus immediately in a good mood after
bc it means they're not disappointing their friends anymore and this is good, this is
growth
- the bridge the bridge the fucking bridge, because that's the bridge that James built and
it's not perfect and it's built kinda messy and maybe he should've asked permission to
build it but the brothers are using the bridge! they'll make it stronger all on their own

other bridge gets used and 😭

and James will learn to be okay with losing the one between him and Reg if it means the
why am i emotional about fucking bridges?
- Regulus casually counting money and doing the splits yeah that's fine i'm normal about
that too
- casual memories of James and the literal chokehold he has on Regulus yeah that's fine
- HOW ARE THE STARS TONIGHT? / I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO SEE THEM
SINCE YOU LEFT.
okay well i hope you liked it and i should be back to a regular once a week schedule
now (unless life gets crazy which might happen because I'M SEEING NOAH KAHAN
NEXT WEEKEND AHHHHHHHH) anyway sending you all lots of love and thank you
for such lovely comments on James' POV and Ch 18 <3

and thank you to my dear, dear Iris (galaxo) for helping with the French translations so
last minute <3

editing to add that House of the Dragon comes back this weekend on Sunday and if you
follow me on Instagram i'm so sorry i'm gonna be so obnoxious about it and it WILL
come up again for this jeggy
 i remember nothing, so there’s nothing to regret
Chapter Notes

i know i said that i would publish this on Friday when i'm at the Noah Kahan concert,
but i am notoriously bad at sitting on chapters once i've finished editing them and i've
been waiting a long, long time for us to get here so... enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Thanks to the clogged British roadways, it takes Regulus almost an hour to reach Primrose
Hill. He pulls the Porsche into a car park near the London Zoo, breath catching at the sight of
a black Ducati. Leaning against it is Sirius, who wears the same leather jacket as before. His
hair is tied back in a low ponytail, and his arms are crossed with a cigarette between his
fingers.

When Regulus parks the Porsche, cutting the engine and settling into the quiet, he has to take
several deep breaths before he can muster the courage to open his door. This is his first step
onto that rickety bridge.

What was it that his friends said earlier? Nothing happens overnight, and he doesn’t have to
forgive anyone yet.

But a step is good. A step is progress.

Sirius whistles low when Regulus shuts his door. “When you said you had a car, I didn’t
think you meant a Porsche.”

“Surprise?”

“Kinda. I have questions, but they can wait.” Sirius flicks ash off the end of his cigarette and
watches Regulus apprehensively. “Are you… Are you doing okay after last weekend? I know
it was really sudden, and I left pretty quickly, too.”

“In your defense, I did only give you one hour.” Regulus leans against the side of the
Porsche. He mirrors his brother’s pose—arms and ankles crossed, with a curious tilt to his
head.

Sirius grins around the end of his cigarette. “True. Question still stands, though. Are you
doing okay?”

“Define okay.”

“Dunno. It’s a bit relative, don’t you think?”

Regulus blows a soft laugh through his nose. “I’m fine. Better. There are ups and downs.
Good days and bad days. Lots of bad days lately, but I think things are looking up a bit.”

“Good.” Sirius drops the rest of his cigarette on the pavement, stubs it under the toe of a pair
of beat-up Docs, and then nods in the direction of Primrose Hill. “Should we go? Might have
to break in. I don’t think visitors are allowed in this late.” He throws one arm out at the empty
car park. “Clearly.”

They fall into step side by side on the softly lit path towards Primrose Hill. It rises steadily,
looking out over a nearly deserted Regent’s Park. It’s been a long time since Regulus was last
here.

“You can talk this time,” he offers after a few minutes of heavy silence. “If you want.”

Sirius blows air past his lips. “There’s so much I want to tell you and want to know. I feel like
I know you, but I don’t know you. That’s a really weird feeling to have with someone who
was once your best friend and is still biologically your sibling.”

I understand. I feel the same way. But Regulus doesn’t say it. Instead, he asks, “Has James
told you anything about me? Surely you told him we met up at the diner… He didn’t say
anything even after that?”

“Yeah, I told him. But he’s still… James is working. A lot.” Sirius glances sidelong at
Regulus but quickly averts his gaze. “Do you want me to tell you this? You didn’t want to
hear about James last time, so it’s okay if you don’t want me to talk about it. But it might be a
good idea to start with something familiar to both of us… Maybe. I don’t know. This is all
new territory for me.”

It is for Regulus, too. He swallows the anxiety rising like bile in his throat. Does he really
want to know what James has been up to? He tried desperately to think of other things on the
way here, but his brain was stuck on a loop of Remus is out with James Remus is out with
James Remus is out with James.

Out where? Doing what? Seeing who? Remus is obviously married, but James… Well,
Regulus set him free. It’s not his place to worry and hope and wonder anymore.

And yet here he is—absolutely obsessed with knowing.

“Just tell me,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’d rather you tell me than keep wondering
about it.”

“If I tell you what James has been up to, then it’s only fair that if he asks me, I tell him what
you have been up to. You understand that, right? James is still my best friend. If I’m not
keeping secrets from you, then I’m not keeping secrets from him.”

Regulus nods slowly. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m not interested in keeping secrets. Or asking you to
keep them for me.”

“Then can I be honest with you for a sec?”

“Yes.”

“Reg, you… You fucked him up pretty bad.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Regulus mutters drily even as his heart sinks. Despite everything, he
doesn’t want to hurt James. He did in the moment, when Paris was fresh and the betrayal hurt
more than anything he’s ever felt. But it’s been three weeks; Regulus has had enough time to
realize he meant very little of what he said to James in that hotel room.

“Figured as much,” Sirius says dully. “I mean it, though. I’ve been friends with James for ten
years, and I’ve seen him go through his fair share of men and women. But he’s not himself
right now. He’s very reclusive. He spent a week holed up in his office because he couldn’t go
back to his flat.”

Regulus pulls the sleeves of his jumper over his hands and balls them up into fists. He
doesn’t know what to say—and so much of it feels too vulnerable—so he settles on the most
basic truth: “I’m still angry with him.”

“I know. That’s fine. I’m not telling you this because I think you should forgive him. I’m
telling you because you asked.”

They arrive at the foot of Primrose Hill, and Regulus lets Sirius choose which gravel path
they follow. There’s no one else around; the park is eerily silent.

Sirius continues, “He doesn’t really leave his flat except to go to the office. He says he’s
working on a big important project, but he won’t talk to us about it. Tonight is the first night
Remus has managed to get him out of the house and around people who aren’t his
employees.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Regulus crosses his arms over his middle and curls in on himself. Guilt devours him whole in
an instant. Here he is with a new boy to play with, and James is… What? Locking himself
away in his high-rise and working himself to the bone?

I love you. I’ve been falling in love with you since I first saw you.

He digs his nails into his palms. Oh, Regulus. Tears threaten to fall, but he hurriedly blinks
them away. What have you done?

“So they’re out?” he croaks in some last ditch attempt to justify this new mess he’s made on
top of the rubble. “Remus and James, I mean. They’re…out?”

“Yeah, just a pub we used to go to a lot when we were uni students.” Sirius turns on his heel
and begins marching steadily up a sloping hill. He doesn’t seem to notice Regulus quietly
spiraling a step or two behind him. “I really wouldn’t worry about it, Reg. James isn’t the
‘sleeping around’ type. We just wanted him to quit isolating himself from the world.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Regulus blurts, careful to keep his voice controlled. He
doesn’t want Sirius to see how this affects him. It’s not what they’re here for, and he isn’t
ready to tell Sirius that while James might not sleep around, he does. Did. Still is. Shit.

But this isn’t about him and James. It’s about him and Sirius. And it’s about this damn bridge
James built for them that may or may not hold once they’re both standing in the middle.

“We can talk about whatever you want. Is here a good spot?” Sirius comes to a stop close to
the top of the hill but still on the slope. “This way we can lie back in the grass if we get
tired.”

Regulus plops down in lieu of an answer, inhaling cool February air into his lungs. It’ll be
March soon. He tries not to think about James’ impending birthday even if it is more than
three weeks away. “Here is fine.”

Once Sirius has settled next to Regulus, both of them sitting cross-legged with their knees
mere centimeters apart, he begins to pull a myriad of small things from the inside pockets of
his leather jacket. Regulus looks on curiously but tries not to show too much blatant interest.

“Do you remember these?” asks Sirius, passing Regulus a small carton of white and gold.
“We used to—”

“Buy them in Italy,” Regulus finishes. He takes the cigarette box with a trembling hand.
“Where did you…?”

Sirius sucks his teeth. “I’m not sure you’re going to like this, but James bought them when
you were still in Milan. He gave them to me when we had our fight after. It kinda made
things worse at the time, but I think he really believed that we would find our way back to
each other.” He balances a tiny black tray on his knee. “I told him about these ages ago. I said
they were my favorite cigs but hard to find.”

You sure you want to leave the cigarettes? This is a good brand. You can only get it in Italy.

Regulus huffs a sardonic laugh. “We smoked these in Milan.” He twists the white and gold
carton this way and that in his hands. “I had to ask some random Italian guy to buy them for
me. I didn’t tell James what they meant.”

“He can be impulsive, but he’s also incredibly perceptive.” Sirius cuts him a curious glance.
“Is there a reason you picked this brand over every other?”

“When I saw them in the vending machine, I remembered when we would sit on hills like
this and smoke until our lungs hurt. And I remembered smoking them on the roof when
Grimmauld was bad… I hated them then, but I guess things change.”

Sirius pulls a lighter from the inside of his jacket. “Some things do. Here, I’ll light one for
you.”
The first inhale calms the slight shake in Regulus’ hands. His nerves settle. He breathes out
slowly, and smoke curls from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. Beside him, Sirius
lights his own and breathes deep, exhaling with the same deliberate slowness as Regulus.

“I met James the first day I started uni,” Sirius says softly, shifting to pull his knees to his
chest so he can lean forward on the hill. He sets the tiny black tray between them. “We had
the same Intro to English Lit lecture. Wasn’t even related to our degrees really, but it became
our favorite class. It was the only one we had together. But Remus had a ton of classes with
James. They both studied business.”

Regulus leans back on one hand and stares at his brother’s profile silhouetted against the
London skyline. There are stars overhead, but neither of them has bothered to look up at them
yet.

“Our lecturer hated us. We were honestly such shits. It’s a miracle she didn’t find some way
to get us removed.” Sirius chuckles, smiling fondly. He twists to tap ash off on the edge of
the small tray. “Anyway. We were best friends immediately. I don’t think there’s a thing we
didn’t do together. And I loved that he and Remus were in the same major. I studied with
them even though I was doing my own thing.”

“What did you study?”

“Art. Remember how I used to draw a lot? There wasn’t much else I was interested in. And I
wanted as far away from business as possible, so I picked art. Wasn’t really into school, but I
wanted to go where Remus went.” Sirius shrugs one shoulder. “Did tattooing for a bit after
uni, but it got a little frustrating after a while. I hated working for someone else. And then the
Chocolate Frog took off, so I started putting my energy into that so Remus could have his
dream.”

Regulus rolls his cigarette between thumb and forefinger, staring at the slowly burning filter.
“You didn’t have a dream of your own?”

“Not really. I still don’t. I just have things I want to do. But I don’t think that’s the same as a
career, y’know? Like…take Remus. He loves that bookstore. If we weren’t married and I
wasn’t absolutely certain he’s in love with me, I might worry he would marry the bookstore
instead.”

“That bad?”

“It’s endearing. He’s very passionate about it. If you want, you can drop by any time. I know
you and Remus have always been a bit prickly towards one another, but I think you’ll come
to like him quite a lot if you saw him talk about books.” Sirius’ smile grows impossibly
fonder. “He’s so passionate about them that he got James to read the entire A Song of Ice and
Fire series. And James isn’t a big reader.”

Regulus sits up suddenly. “Remus likes Game of Thrones?”

“Oh, yeah. Big fan. Won’t shut up about it if you get him—”
“It’s my favorite. I made James watch House of the Dragon with me. And I was reading Fire
and Blood to him so he could be ready for season two.” Regulus doesn’t even care that his
words are all coming out in an excited rush. “Is Remus for the Hightowers or Rhaenyra? His
answer will absolutely affect whether we become friends or not. James is Team Black, which,
duh. But—”

Sirius turns his head slowly, smoke billowing from his nostrils. There’s an imperceptible
twitch at the corners of his mouth, and there’s a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Sorry, but did I just
unlock your special interest on accident?”

“Yes. Tell me which team Remus is on.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

“Might be.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Sirius.”

“Nope.” Sirius sets his cigarette between his teeth and grins fully. “You’ll have to ask him
yourself. I know absolutely nothing about anything at all.”

Regulus guffaws. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Bummer.”

“Fine. Then tell him if he supports the Hightowers, I hate him.”

Sirius chuckles warmly. “I’ll let him know.”

Finishing the last of his cigarette, Regulus reaches for the carton to light another. “Anyway.
Bookstore?”

“Right, yeah. Remus’ passion project. But I was talking about uni before we derailed. I’m
trying to go in chronological order here so you have a better idea of my life after I left.”
Sirius holds out a hand for the white and gold carton, stubbing his cigarette out in the tray
between them. “Studied art. Wasn’t really my thing, but it helped me learn some stuff that
was pretty useful. I still paint and do sketches.”

“When did you and Remus get married? James said it was a few months after you all met.”

“Yeah, it was in December. A little wedding. Just some friends and close family.”

“I saw a picture,” Regulus admits quietly. His chest tightens when he remembers the
photographs James hid beneath his bed. “Was James your best man?”
Sirius is silent for a beat too long before he replies, “No. He wasn’t. I didn’t have one.”

“Because it was such a small wedding?”

“No. Because that spot was always supposed to be yours.”

Regulus stills. He doesn’t even breathe.

“I was still fighting Walburga and Orion when me and Remus got married. There was this
tiny kernel of hope left that I might be able to get you out, or that you would find some way
to talk to me and…” Sirius’ voice cracks. He hurries to take a drag off his cigarette, exhaling
slowly before he continues. “It sucked, Reg. It sucked to do this huge fucking thing and not
have you there. I know we didn’t talk about marriage and our futures much, but…”

The filter of Regulus’ cigarette burns and burns until ash falls from the end and into his lap.

“It felt wrong to do these huge life things without you around. James is my best friend, and in
some ways he’s like a brother, but he isn’t my actual sibling. He isn’t you. He didn’t grow up
in that house with me. He listens, but he doesn’t get it. His parents are absolute fucking
angels. He told me he set something on fire once as a kid and they didn’t even bat an eye.”

“Maman would’ve made us go without dinner for a week.”

“I remember.” Sirius’ tone is brittle. “It was hard for me to adjust the first time I met James’
parents. Remus’ are fantastic, but James’ are something unique. They’re older and had him
later in life, so he’s sort of their miracle child. It shows sometimes. But James has a good
heart. They raised him right. He just gets away with murder sometimes.”

Regulus snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I can see that. He’s very charming.”

“It can be to his detriment.”

“I didn’t share too much of our childhood with him. I don’t really… I don’t remember a lot of
it.”

Sirius flinches. “It’s better that you don’t. Let the memories stay hidden, if you can. I
remember too much and spent a lot of time trying to forget. Didn’t work, though. They’re
still there.”

“What did you do to try and forget?”

“I drank. A lot.”

Something cold settles in Regulus’ chest. He regards Sirius with equal parts trepidation and
curiosity. “But you got married. And you were happy. You had Remus, James, your other
friends, other parents…”

“I still spent eighteen years of my life in an abusive environment. That doesn’t go away, even
if the rest of your life is amazing. It’ll manifest somehow. It always does. Your parents are
supposed to protect you. At the very least, they’re supposed to bloody care.” Sirius stubs out
his cigarette in the tray, almost toppling the ash and discarded butts into the grass. “It was
hard not to be angry when I saw how Remus’ parents cared for him, or how James’ parents
doted on him. I kept thinking, ‘Oh, so it’s not that hard. My parents just didn’t want to.’”

Regulus adjusts the little tray in the grass. He tries to steady his breathing, but confirmation
of what he’s always wondered seems to be on the tip of Sirius’ tongue. His heartbeat refuses
to slow.

“So I drank a lot. It was fun at first. James can drink anyone under the table. We would have
competitions at parties and… I liked it. I didn’t feel like me when I was drunk. Sober Sirius
was angry and irritable and didn’t know why, but Drunk Sirius was fun. Nothing mattered.”

And then everything would feel better, you know? I wouldn’t be me.

Bile rises in Regulus’ throat.

“My birthday was the first time I drank in years. God, I was mean. James and Remus tried to
stop me, but I was determined to get drunk no matter what. All I could think of was how ten
years had passed since I’d last seen you. Walburga and Orion were out there, happy and rich
as the fucking Crown. And all I knew was you were with them, and it made me so angry. Sad,
too.” Sirius sucks in a sharp breath, steadying himself. “So I drank. Broke about… Oh, I
don’t know. Three? Four years of sobriety? Maybe five. Definitely not my finest hour.”

Regulus swallows the bitter taste in his mouth. His tongue feels heavy and thick behind his
teeth.

“I think that’s why James and Remus did it. They saw me kinda lose it there for a second.
Maybe they thought I wanted closure or something. I don’t know.”

“Did you?” asks Regulus quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Want closure? Maybe. I guess. I missed you, but I was also so angry with you that I couldn’t
see straight sometimes. So it was this weird mix of emotions, and bourbon was a nice, easy
fix.” Sirius’ smile is brittle. “Lost my fucking chips though. Whatever. I’ll get them back.
Didn’t much care for the morning after, or the way Remus didn’t trust me to go anywhere on
my own for a solid month.”

“I know the feeling,” Regulus blurts, and Sirius’ head whips around.

“What do you mean?”

He can’t do this. He needs to do this. He should do this. Sirius is like him. Sirius understands
him.

Are any of your other family members addicts? Minnie had asked before one of the many
meetings he didn’t attend.

I’m not an addict.

Right, but is anyone in your family an addict?

Papa used to drink sometimes, and I think Maman liked pills, but they weren’t… I don’t think
they were addicts.

You have a brother, don’t you?

Yeah, but I doubt he’s an addict. Life seems pretty good for him.

Minnie had simply hummed under her breath. Addiction sometimes runs in the family. There
are those who say it’s genetic, while others claim it’s strictly the environment you grow up in.
I think it can be a bit of both. I’m curious about your brother.

I’m not. He got the good life. What does he have to work to forget?

Regulus might be sick. The tremor in his hands is noticeable now when he reaches for the
little carton. He plucks out a cigarette, but his fingers shake too badly for him to light the end.

“Reg, what’s wrong?” Sirius takes the lighter, cupping a hand around the cigarette to light it
for him. “Why are you shaking?”

His throat is so tight he can hardly breathe, but he manages to ask, “Do you remember the
meeting I had to go to that day you came to my flat?”

Sirius nods slowly. Two deep lines form between his brows, but they smooth down flat, his
eyes widening as he seems to put the pieces together even before Regulus clicks them all into
place.

“Cocaine was… That’s how I tried to forget. I go to NA meetings. I’ve been going since
Paris. When everything happened with James, I couldn’t…” Regulus takes a long drag off his
cigarette, desperate for something to ease the jackrabbit beat of his heart. “Life was really shit
for me when I left Grimmauld. I got in with bad people who… Anyway, I partied a lot.
Drank. Got into coke. It was really bad and then I—When Paris…”

“Hey,” Sirius says gently, scooting over until their shoulders touch. He leans into Regulus, a
grounding weight. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You know that,
right?”

“I know.”

“So if this is too big…”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Regulus squeezes his arm between their bodies to flick ash off the end of
his cigarette. He keeps his gaze trained on the London skyline. “I didn’t realize you had
issues with stuff, too. I thought it was just me. And it’s been… I’ve spent years believing you
were so well-adjusted and happy that you would never be like me.”

Sirius snorts, but it’s not cruel. “Reg, I’m starting to think we’re way more alike than either
of us realized. This explains a lot, though. Does James know?”

“Yeah, I told him in Milan. Why?”

“He’s been really cagey about stuff since Paris. Remus didn’t give me your address until that
Saturday I came to see you because James told him to wait two weeks. But when Remus
asked why, James wouldn’t say. We both kinda figured it must be something big, but I didn’t
think…”

Regulus plucks at the laces of his Docs. His throat is still tight, but he’s suffocating a smidge
less than before. “I broke my sobriety. Two years down the drain in a single night… I came
back from Paris, and I couldn’t deal with any of it. James was in my head. I was so furious
with him. And with you.” Quietly, he adds, “With myself.”

“I’m sorry. I am so, so fucking sorry.”

“It is what it is.” No one held him down over a glass table and forced him to inhale a line of
white powder. That was his choice. He understands this even if he doesn’t yet want to
acknowledge what exactly it means.

“Do the meetings help?”

“I’ve only been to two. The first was that day we got milkshakes, and the other was on
Wednesday. I couldn’t go inside for a while.”

Sirius, still with their shoulders pressed together, lights another cigarette. “It’s hard. I think I
spent a month or two the first time just sitting in the back. I didn’t really think I needed to be
there. My life was fine. But even people with the whole world at their fingertips can be sad
enough to need help. Therapy is good. I still go to meetings when I have bad days or want to
drink. You’ll get more comfortable. It won’t seem as scary.”

Silence settles, but it isn’t as uncomfortable as Regulus expected it might be. The only sounds
come from the city nearby, and the nighttime bugs that reside in the park. Then there’s the
steady sound of their breathing as they smoke. The slow burn of filters turning to ash.

“Do you consider yourself an addict?” asks Regulus, wrapping and unwrapping a thick, black
lace around his finger. He doesn’t know if it’s the right question to ask, but his curiosity is
piqued. There are so many things he doesn’t understand that Sirius seems to.

He’s five again and his big brother helps him learn to ride a bike without training wheels.
He’s six and his letters are all wrong, but Sirius guides his hand. He’s seven and he hates
ballet, thinks he’s terrible at it and will only ever be a disappointment, but Sirius practices
with him for hours until he nails his grand jeté.

“Alcoholic is probably more appropriate, but yeah,” Sirius replies. “You kinda have to own it.
That’s part of the process. I mean, I don’t walk around with a sign on my chest that says, ‘Hi,
I’m Sirius, and I’m an alcoholic,’ but admitting it to yourself is the first step. I think that’s
how the saying goes, anyway.”

Do it for yourself. Not someone else.

Regulus watches the filter of his cigarette burn and burn and burn.
“Are you doing okay? Now, I mean. After all that happened in Paris, and…” Sirius trails off,
sighing heavily. “I really am sorry. That’s not how it was meant to happen. I was supposed to
be waiting in James’ flat the day you both came back. We knew it would be messy, but I
didn’t know how else we were supposed to make it happen. Then Rodolphus showed up in
Paris… I thought maybe ambushing you was a bad idea.”

“Is that why you texted James a thousand times?”

Sirius coughs on cigarette smoke when he laughs. “Yeah. Fuck. James was so mad about that.
I shouldn’t have texted so much, but I was freaking out a little. Here we were planning to
drop me into your life, meanwhile our crazy cousins are popping up all over. It felt like a bad
idea.”

“I don’t think there would’ve been any good way to do it, though. It’s like ripping a plaster
off.” Regulus flicks the long, blackened line of ash from his cigarette. “Honestly, opening my
door to find you standing there wasn’t ideal either. But it worked.”

“I didn’t think it would. Especially after you slammed the door in my face.”

“Knee jerk reaction.”

“Valid.” Sirius’ mouth quirks up at the corner. “So what about you? I won’t ask. Just talk, if
you want. There’s definitely more I can tell you, but I think you’re probably tired of hearing
me ramble.”

Regulus pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin in the space between. It jostles Sirius,
who was still leaning against his shoulder. But Sirius simply leans forward with him, their
cigarettes forgotten in the tray.

“I have friends,” Regulus says slowly, racking his brain to try and figure out where to start.
“A few of them. Barty, Evan, Lily, Pandora, Dorcas, Marlene… Those are the main ones. A
few school friends here and there, but I don’t really spend time with them the way I do those
six. We’re close.” He scratches his nose, debating, but finally says, “I used to date Barty and
Evan. We were together.”

“Like… Polyamorous?”

“Yeah. We broke up the polycule a year or so ago, but it was a little blurry because we still
slept together from time to time. They’re actually together. Very in love. It’s kinda gross
sometimes. But they helped me get out of the hole I’d dug for myself when I was partying.
They were good for me.”

Sirius turns to rest his cheek on his forearms, watching Regulus with his familiar, piercing
gaze. “You didn’t want to stay with them?”

“It was different than I expected it would be. They’re in love, but I didn’t feel that way about
them, and I don’t think they felt that way about me. We loved each other, but that’s not the
same thing as being in love.”
“No. It’s not.”

“But it taught me so much, so I’m glad it happened. And they’re my best friends now. It was
easier than I thought it would be to transition into being just friends.”

“Did James meet them?”

Regulus grins despite himself. He turns to look at Sirius, laughter building in his throat.
“Yeah. Him and Barty kinda… Well, they kissed. Kinda.”

“No way.”

“Mhm. Barty was teasing James about how he didn’t believe James had ever smoked weed.
So James said fine, let’s get high. Then they shotgunned.”

Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I wish I’d filmed it.”

“I’ve shotgunned with James before. So has Remus. It was…an experience. Honestly, I think
even a straight guy would be confused if it was James shotgunning with them. It’s borderline
pornographic.”

The laugh that bursts out of Regulus startles even him. The park is too quiet, but it feels good
to laugh. Warmth trickles between his ribs. “Yeah, he’s… Anyway, James has met all of my
friends. They liked him up until Paris. Now Barty has murder plans at the ready.”

“Fair.” Sirius’ surprised expression relaxes into a warm, fond smile. “I don’t think you’ve
properly known and loved James until you’ve wanted to kill him at least once. But that’s part
of his charm.”

Regulus’ chest cools, the warmth slithering away as quickly as it came. “There are some
things not so easily forgiven.”

“I know. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

“He said he loved me, and then he—” Regulus sighs, reaching for the carton of cigarettes to
tap another into his palm. “You don’t hurt the people you love. Not like this.”

Sirius clears his throat. “Sometimes you do.”

With the lighter poised at the end of his cigarette, Regulus pauses. He slides his gaze over to
meet Sirius’, and what he finds there are emotions rawer than he’s ever seen. Pain. Hope.
Anger. Exhaustion. Forgiveness. Regret.

Ten years wasted.

Ten years lost.

Regulus lights the end of his cigarette, inhales deep, then passes it to Sirius. “We used to
share these,” he says, exhaling into the cool night air. “It always made the pack last longer.”

Tentatively, Sirius takes the cigarette between his fingers. He says nothing. Perhaps there is
nothing to say. Regulus can’t say I forgive you, because he isn’t sure that he does. Not
entirely. But ten years is a long time to miss someone. To be angry with someone. Regulus is
tired of being angry. It seems Sirius might be, too.

“I study software engineering at Imperial College,” Regulus offers, pleased when Sirius
passes him the cigarette and their conversation settles into less emotional territory. “Not sure
what I want to do with it yet. I like coding languages. Python, JavaScript, Ruby… This last
semester has been mostly theoretical stuff, though. Kinda boring. But I might work for a
company. I don’t know. The problem is, I’m not sure software engineering will pay as well as
my current job.”

Sirius doesn’t ask; he waits for Regulus to continue and takes the cigarette when it’s offered
to him.

“Not sure how you’ll take this, but I’m a stripper. That’s, uh… That’s how James found me.”
Regulus’ cheeks heat; Sirius has raised one eyebrow and blinks several times. “He came to
the club where I work and became one of my regulars. It’s how we… Yeah.”

“Oh, this explains so much. I’ve been wondering for weeks how you two got started. He was
so vague about it after Milan.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he wanted to tell you he gave your stripper brother ninety thousand
pounds.”

Sirius sputters, hacking on smoke. He leans forward, coughing into the grass, and Regulus
pats his back gently. Pounding his chest, Sirius wheezes, “Ninety thousand pounds?”

“Wow. He really didn’t tell you anything.”

“No. He did not.”

Regulus can’t help but grin. “I did the math after I came back from Paris. It was around
ninety-three thousand in total to be precise.”

“Oh, my God. He’s such a—a—”

“Simp?”

“Yes. Bloody hell. Ninety-three thousand pounds?” Sirius coughs again, shaking his head. His
eyes are watery and a bit bloodshot. “He’s insane. Absolutely in—Christ. What are you even
going to do with all of that money?”

Regulus shrugs, taking the dying cigarette from Sirius’ limp fingers. “I put it in savings for
now. It’s earning compound interest. I make enough as a stripper, so I don’t have to touch it.
But I think James just liked taking on the role of my sugar daddy more than he would—
What? What did I say?”
This time, Sirius makes a slew of dramatic gagging noise. “There are some things I don’t
need to know, Reg. That would be one of them.”

“Oh. Sorry. I was just…talking.”

“You’re an adult. James is an adult. I don’t care what you two do. Just make sure it doesn’t
reach my ears.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic. I barely said anything! I could tell you about
how I call him—”

“Nope.” Sirius slaps both hands over his ears. “You’re my brother. He’s my best friend. Do
not! Want! To know!”

“Oh, stop. I won’t say anything.” Regulus elbows Sirius’ bicep, rolling his eyes again. “Come
on. I promise. All sex stories will remain secret.”

Sirius makes another gagging sound, but he drops his hands from his ears. “So,” he continues
after a moment, “do you like stripping?”

“Sometimes. The money is nice, and I like to dance. Maman ruined it for me when I was
little, but I’ve had fun exploring my own style. There are some downsides, though. It’s not all
glitz and glamor and tons of money.” Regulus flicks ash into the tray, then passes the rest of
the cigarette back to Sirius. “Some men can be really gross. Or entitled. They think strippers
are full-service escorts.”

“Oh. That sounds awful.”

“It’s alright. The club I work at is pretty high end. Most of the clients coming in and out have
money to spend, so if they’re nice, then it’s great. But money can make people entitled. They
think they can buy property, business deals, and people.”

Sirius purses his lips. A frown creases his brow. “James wasn’t like that, was he? Sometimes
he needs a bit of humbling…”

“No. He was the complete opposite. I would’ve told him to fuck right off if he tried that with
me. I’m pretty good at avoiding the men who treat me like meat in a freezer. My regulars are
really nice. Some pay me just to sit in a private room with them and listen while they talk.
Not all of them want a stripper. Some just seem to want a companion of sorts.”

“Huh. I wish someone would pay me to listen to them talk.”

Regulus snorts. “Then become a stripper.”

“I think Remus’ head would spin around three hundred sixty degrees at the mere suggestion.”

“Suit yourself.” Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, then falls onto his back in
the grass. He pillows his head on his arms and stares up at the sky. There are fewer stars
overhead than he’d hoped, but there are enough for him to track their constellations. “I used
to climb on the roof after you left,” he says, staring in the direction of Orion. “I’d talk to
them. The stars.”

Sirius gently lowers himself down. He crosses his arms under his head and follows Regulus’
gaze. “I still look from time to time. Where we live, there isn’t a lot of light pollution. It’s
easier to see more of them. This is a good spot, though. When you talked to them, what did
you tell them?”

It’s easy for Regulus to find Sirius’ star. It doesn’t burn as brightly here, but he’d know where
to look even if he was blindfolded. “Everything I always told you. No one talked after you
left. Papa stayed in his office, and Maman was as closed off as ever. But it was kinda nice.
They were so absorbed in their own shit that they forgot about me entirely.”

“No one really talked even when I was there,” Sirius murmurs.

“I know. But after you left, I didn’t have anyone. Do you remember Kreacher? Our cat?”

“Yeah.”

“Maman left the front door open a week or two after you left. He ran away. She swore to me
it wasn’t on purpose, but I think it was. It just made it so I was more alone than ever. So I
started talking to the stars, and I pretended they were you. It helped in the beginning, but I
stopped talking to them about six months after you left.”

Sirius’ chest rises and falls with a deep breath. He’s silhouetted by faraway lamplight on the
gravel paths. “I’m sorry. No matter how angry I was with you, I’m still sorry. I knew our
parents were monsters. I should’ve tried harder, or—”

“Stop. We could go round and round for hours about the things we should’ve done. But I
don’t want to be mad about them anymore. I’m so tired of being full of anger about shit that I
can’t change.” Regulus turns his head to stare at Sirius’ profile, but Sirius turns to gaze back.
“We can change this, though. Right? It’ll take time, but that’s okay. Nothing happens
overnight.”

A knee bumps his, and Sirius smiles. “We’ve made some progress already. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I guess we have.”

Regulus turns to look back up at the stars and Sirius does the same. There’s one last piece.
He’s not sure if Sirius knows it’s there, or if it only lurks beneath the surface for Regulus.
Their cards have all been played—except for this one. It floats in the back of Regulus’ mind,
an Instagram profile with he/she/they beside the name.

Perhaps this is just one more plaster he needs to rip off.

“Hey, Sirius?” he asks tentatively.

“Mm?”
“Do you…” He swallows, steadying himself. “Do you remember when we talked about
gender? It was a long time ago, but you called it a performance.”

Sirius’ chest rises, falls, rises, falls. “I remember,” he finally says. “Why?”

“I saw your Instagram…”

“Ah.” Sirius shifts, crossing his ankles only to uncross them to do it the other way. He sniffs,
shifts again, then finally speaks. “The pronouns are what you’re referring to, yeah?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” Regulus says in a rush, feeling
suddenly like he may have overstepped. “But I… I’m curious. About it. The gender thing.”

“I don’t mind talking about it. It’s not a big secret. I’m open. Out. Whatever it’s called. I
usually tell people pretty early on that I’m genderfluid. But I didn’t know how to bring it up
tonight, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Even within the queer community,
some people are—”

“I am, too,” Regulus blurts, and Sirius turns his head, those double lines between his brows
again.

“You’re what? Queer? No offense, but I kinda picked up on that when I found out you were
sleeping with my best friend who is also a man.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue at the stars. “No. Not that. Well, yes. I’m gay. But what I meant
to say is that I’m genderfluid, too. I think. It’s what I’ve been going with because it feels
right.” He turns his head to meet Sirius’ gaze. “What about you? When did you figure it
out?”

“What?”

“Gender.”

Sirius throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, you never really figure that out. Maybe some
people do and good for them, but I don’t think that’s the case for everyone. Personally, I think
it’s a lot to ask the people around me to keep up with how often my gender can change. It’s
fluid for a reason, though that might be a terrible pun for me to make.”

“It is.”

“Not sorry.” Sirius grins up at the stars. “Almost everyone in my life uses ‘they’ for me. It’s
easier, and there’s less of a chance of dysphoria. I don’t mind ‘he,’ mostly because it’s how
I’ve performed gender my entire life, but it’s nice to get ‘she’ sometimes, too.”

“What should I use for you?”

“‘They’ is safe and neutral. If I feel very strongly about one of the others, I’ll tell you. But
these days, I think ‘they’ keeps people from being confused or scared of misgendering me.
And I think, as much as I want everyone to understand what’s going on inside my head, it’s
just not possible. So giving people a safe zone keeps me safe, too.”
Regulus follows the lines of Sirius’ profile. The aristocratic shape of a nose like his own.
Long lashes, full lips. Features that can shift easily if you know how to mold them. “Okay.
I’ll use ‘they’ for you.”

“It’s okay if you mess up,” Sirius says, turning so their gazes meet again. “I don’t really have
a preference, so it’s a bit difficult to outright misgender me. I use them all. But ‘they’ is safe,
if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What does Remus use? And James?”

Sirius shifts to look back up at the stars. “James pretty much only uses ‘they.’ I think it’s a bit
easier for him, which is fine. He’ll only switch if I ask him to, but I rarely do. The rest of my
friends use ‘they,’ too. Remus is the only one who really uses other ones, but that’s because
he knows me better than anyone. He seems to get it just based on how I dress or act, or what I
say. He’ll usually ask since it’s not all tied to what I wear, but for me, that’s the performance
part of it. So he notices, and he adjusts. He’s never wrong.”

“It must be nice to have someone who knows and understands you like that.” Regulus stares
wistfully up at the blanket of stars. “I still use ‘he’ for myself, but James uses—used ‘they.’
We were… I was figuring it out. I still am.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. But now that I think about it, that makes sense. James talks about
you with ‘he,’ but he looks very distressed when he does it. I thought it was because he was
talking about you, but I think…”

“He got the hang of it quickly,” Regulus says. “It was nice when he would refer to me the
way I wish everyone would. But I’m not really out, so he probably didn’t want you to know
until I told you.”

Sirius sighs heavily. “I shouldn’t be surprised. God, he’s probably torturing himself. He
would slip up sometimes, but I just thought it was because he uses ‘they’ so often for me that
he was doing it for you, too. I didn’t realize that’s his default when he talks about you. Oh,
James. You miserable idiot.” Sirius closes their eyes. It’s a fond smile they wear.

“Does it surprise you that we share this?” Regulus asks softly.

“Honestly? No. We grew up with parents who decided everything for us, right down to the
clothes we wore and how we wore them. We had no choices. It was always ‘do this’ and ‘do
that.’ ‘Be this’ and ‘act this way.’ I think it makes sense that we want to decide the one thing
that makes us fundamentally who we are. We want to decide how the world understands us,
not let the world tell us how we should be.”

Regulus blinks several times, taken aback. “You go to therapy, don’t you?”

Sirius’ laugh is loud and bright in the still darkness. “I just might, yeah. It helps. You should
try it. It’s where I learned that instead of blaming everything on everyone else, I need to grow
up a bit and take on some blame myself. Not that it excuses anyone else’s actions—especially
our parents’—but it helped me figure out a lot of my shit.”
“I don’t like talking to people about my problems.”

“Neither do I. But the alternative for us is apparently substance abuse, so pick your poison,
Reg.”

“Reggie.”

Sirius pushes up on their elbows and turns to look down at Regulus. “What?”

“You can call me Reggie. You always have, so ‘Reg’ sounds weird coming from you.” It
sounds distant.

“But you said that’s what people who matter get to call you.”

“I know what I said, Sirius.”

Bright blue eyes turn a bit watery, and Sirius drops back to the grass with a not-so-subtle
sniffle. “Okay. Do you have any other questions? About gender or me or… Well, anything.
I’m an open book.”

Regulus gazes up at the stars. There are a thousand questions on his tongue about a thousand
different things, but some part of him is also settled. He has more knowledge than he came
with. There are still missing pieces, but none that are as big as before.

Nothing happens overnight.

“Can I still call you my brother, or do you prefer something else?” he asks, blinking back
sudden tears. Sirius is still sniffling.

“I’ll always be your brother, Reggie. But I can be other things, too. Sister. Sibling. It’s up to
you.”

“How do you think of me?”

“That’s not the point. How do you want me to think of you?”

Regulus rolls the words around in his mouth, tasting them individually until he says,
“Sibling, I think. For now. Maybe it’ll change.”

“When I was first trying to figure it all out, I was very against being called what I was
assigned at birth. It brought back that feeling of someone else deciding for me. But I learned
that people won’t ask because so few are taught to, and I got way better responses to gentle
correction than I did frustration. I also stopped hating masculine pronouns when I stopped
thinking about it like the world was trying to tell me who to be. So yeah, it’ll change. A lot.”

“God, our parents fucked us up,” Regulus mutters, his laugh dry and brittle. “I feel a little
dysphoric lately when someone uses ‘he.’ I told James about it a few weeks ago. I
appreciated that he would listen, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t…this. Do you think it was
killing him that he couldn’t tell me?”
“Yes. One hundred percent. But I wasn’t in a place yet, and that’s on me.”

Regulus frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I was still angry with you. James was begging me for weeks, but—”

“Sorry, what?” Regulus sits up suddenly, his spine rigid. “What do you mean ‘for weeks’? He
told me… He said you only talked a few days before Paris because you were so angry at him
that… Sirius, what do you mean?”

“What? No, I got over being angry at him within a couple of days. It was you who I was
furious with. I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want to know anything about you. I was
convinced you were a sleeper cell spy for my parents, or that you were only using James for
his money if you were estranged… I thought a lot of nasty shit.”

Sirius pushes up into a sitting position next to Regulus and reaches for the carton of
cigarettes. There’s a slight tremor in their hands. “James wanted me to calm down and see
reason. He is so fucking in love with you. There wasn’t a chance in the world he was going to
give you up. But he was terrified that if we met when I still thought the worst of you, then it
would be an even bigger disaster than what happened in Paris. He was probably right.”

“He still should’ve told me. Part of why I’m so angry with him is because he put you and
your feelings first.”

“Honestly? I don’t think he did. Not really. At least not from my perspective. He was more
concerned about protecting you from me, and he was getting pretty tired of my shit. There
came a point where he would barely say two or three words to me because I still didn’t want
to talk to you. It was just, ‘Will you talk to Regulus? No? Then goodbye,’ and then he’d try
again the next day.”

Regulus rips out blades of grass in handfuls. Something unnamable aches in his chest. “That
isn’t what he told me.”

“Because James is a self-sacrificing idiot who would rather lose you and know we found our
way back to each other, than potentially lose you and mess us up in the process. I think he
knew he was going to lose you no matter what. It was more about minimizing how much
damage was inflicted on us.”

“I said so many nasty things to him,” Regulus whispers, wincing as the memories of their
fight in Paris rise to the surface. “Even if I forgive him for completely breaking my trust,
he’ll never forgive me for…”

Saying ‘fuck you’ so many times. Sleeping around. Destroying his flat.

“I’ve known him for ten years,” Sirius says gently, “and I can confidently say there isn’t a
man on this planet who will love you like James Potter. Whatever you seem to think is
unforgivable, I can promise he’ll forgive you for it eventually if he hasn’t already.”
“What if he doesn’t?” More blades of grass in a too tight fist. Regulus tosses them aside.
“What if I’m the one who ruined any chance of us getting back together?”

Sirius heaves a heavy sigh. “It’s a two-way street, Reggie. He’ll wait. But if you think you
can forgive him, don’t make him wait forever. He’s still my best friend, and he’s miserable.
Trust me, he deserves to wallow a little bit. Punishment is good for him. Like I said before,
he always gets away with murder. So don’t let him this time, but don’t make him suffer
unnecessarily. We’re here because of him, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to thank him for that yet.”

“I understand, but I don’t think he was ever expecting gratitude from either of us. James is
very selfless.”

Regulus smirks. “It’s funny you say that, because he said he’s selfish.”

“He can be. And he’s not perfect by any means. But he always means well, and his heart is
always in the right place. He might’ve fumbled this one a little bit, but maybe not
completely.” Sirius plucks another cigarette from the little white and gold carton, cupping a
hand around the end to light it. A breeze has picked up.

“So where do we go from here?” asks Regulus, taking the cigarette when Sirius offers it.

“Wherever we want. There are no rules.”

Regulus would rather not dwell on it, but he asks through gritted teeth, “Do you think our
parents know we’re meeting? I know I asked at the diner, but… It’s been a week. Do you
think they’ve figured it out?”

“Maybe we cross that bridge when we get to it,” Sirius offers, smiling thinly. “Walburga and
Orion… They’re snakes in the grass. Impossible to predict. They may not even care that
we’re talking right now.”

I doubt that, Regulus thinks, pulling his knees to his chest again. The secret he’s carried for
all of the years waits in his throat, but he can’t. Not yet. This is still too new, and it’s such a
big thing to spit out on such a nice, quiet evening. He may not be angry anymore, but that
doesn’t mean he wholly trusts his brother.

He’s kept this secret for so long. He doesn’t know how to just spit it out. He’s managed it
once with James—and James has kept it so far—but he needs to be careful. Walburga and
Orion are powerful people, and they do not care about their children.

Sirius’ phone trills, interrupting the still night. They swear, reaching for it in the inside of
their jacket pocket. “Hey, Moons. You on your way home? Oh. Hi, Prongs.” Sirius’ gaze cuts
left, and Regulus shrinks behind his knees, wrapping his arms tight around his legs. It doesn’t
take a rocket scientist to figure out who the nickname belongs to. “I’m…out. Don’t worry
about it.”
Regulus rips single blades of grass out of the ground, turning away from Sirius and resting
his cheek on his knee. I can promise he’ll forgive you for it eventually if he hasn’t already.
Regulus’ fingers twitch when he hears James’ voice, recognizable even though it comes
through the speaker slightly garbled.

A piece of Regulus shatters.

“James, I’m serious. Put Remus back on,” Sirius snaps. Their voice hardens considerably.
“Moons, don’t tell him I’m with Regulus. How much did he drink?”

Regulus hears Remus reply gruffly, “Enough.” He picks at more blades of grass. There’ll be a
bald spot in the ground by the time he’s finished.

“Tell him he can sleep in the guest bedroom. I’ll be home soon. But if he throws up, he’s
buying us a whole new bed. I don’t care how ridiculous that sounds. I’ll take his black card
and the McLaren for a spin.”

McLaren?

“Okay. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home,” Sirius says. “Love you, too. Bye.”

Regulus sniffs, then tentatively asks, “McLaren? James doesn’t have a McLaren.”

“Yeah, he does. It was his first car. I was driving it for a while, but he asked for it back a
couple weeks ago. Which I am still pissed about.”

“Why did he ask for it back?”

“He said he can’t drive the Aston.”

Another piece of Regulus shatters.

He wants to go home.

“Are you okay?” asks Sirius, nudging him gently. “I’m sorry if that freaked you out. James
snatched the phone from Remus. He can be really… He’s a bit ridiculous when he’s that
drunk. But Remus will take care of him. They took the tube, so—Reggie? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Regulus croaks, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his jumper. “It’s just been a
lot tonight. I’ll probably head back to my flat soon. It’s almost two in the morning. And you
should get home.”

Sirius frowns, their brows furrowed, but they nod. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright. Here, let me help you up.” Sirius pushes to their feet, offering a hand to Regulus
with a tentative but warm smile. “You can call me any time. Or text. Whatever you want. I’m
always here, okay? I know we live kinda far from each other, but… I don’t want ten years
between us. Not anymore.”
“I don’t either.” Regulus bends down to gather the carton of cigarettes, lighter, and Sirius’ ash
tray. He passes them to his brother, that feeling of surrealness settling over him again. “Feels
like a dream sometimes, though. Doesn’t it?”

Sirius smirks. “Like no time has passed but a lot of time has passed, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, yeah. I get it.”

Regulus falls into step with Sirius, the two of them walking side by side down the gravel
pathway and back towards the car park. He isn’t physically tired, but he yawns after Sirius
does. This is his usual schedule; he slept until almost three p.m. today thanks to the late work
shift. But Sirius yawns several times before they reach the car park.

“Will you text me when you get home?” Regulus asks, watching Sirius fiddle with their
helmet locked on the Ducati. “It’s late, so… Just let me know? Please?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Sirius frees their helmet but doesn’t move to mount the motorbike.
“You’ll let me know, too? If you make it home before I do.”

Regulus nods, alternating his weight from foot to foot. What’s supposed to happen now? Do
they go their separate ways and hope the bridge holds under the weight of them both? Getting
in his car makes Regulus feel like he’s popping a safe bubble they’ve formed around
themselves. What will happen when it’s gone?

“Do you—”

“Oh, for hell’s sake. Come here.” Sirius, still clutching their helmet in one hand, crosses the
narrow distance and throws their arms around Regulus’ shoulders. His brother smells of
leather, verbena, and Italian cigarettes, with the subtlest hint of something rich and woodsy.
Remus, maybe. Or their house.

Regulus’ arms wrap around Sirius’ middle. His brother has always been taller than him, but
it’s never been by much. Enough centimeters to tease him with when he was little. He can
still bury his face in Sirius’ neck, though.

“I’m glad you called me,” Sirius echoes from earlier, their voice soft but slightly choked up.
“Don’t ever hesitate, okay? You have a list, right? Of people you’re supposed to call when
you want to use?”

“Oh. Yeah, I do.”

“Put me on it if you want to, even if I’m the last person you call.”

Regulus nods furiously. He would very much like to wipe his nose on his jumper sleeve, but
Sirius is squeezing him too tightly. “Okay,” he says instead, voice thick and his emotions
obvious. “I’ll add you.”
 “Right, then.” Sirius lets him go, but not without reaching up to ruffle his curls. “You keep
them longer now. They look good.”

“So do you,” Regulus points out, reaching up to tug a strand of Sirius’ hair that’s fallen from
its bun. “Really long.”

“Rebellion or whatever Walburga used to say.”

Regulus laughs, and so does Sirius, and there’s a warmth shared in this that fills him from the
center of his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. “Drive safe,” he says,
offering Sirius a small smile. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay. You drive safe, too. See you soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

Regulus unlocks the Porsche and slips in, pressing the push to start button at the exact same
moment Sirius kicks on the Ducati. He rolls down his window, waving, and Sirius waves
back. Their eyes crinkle at the corners, a clear smile, before they drop the visor down over
their eyes.

A second later, Sirius peels out of the car park, waving again before they disappear down the
dimly lit London street. It leaves Regulus alone in the front seat of the Porsche. He rolls his
window back up and turns on the stereo, his thoughts a mess of so much new information and
his emotions far worse.

He won’t parse through it all tonight. He feels both heavier and lighter with all that Sirius has
told him these last few hours. It’s too much for right now, when all he wants is to bask in this
small joy of reconnection.

Ten years lost. Ten years wasted. But that’s okay, because even a shattered thing can be put
back together if you take the time—and nothing happens overnight.

The dashboard clock reads 2:31 a.m. He still has a long drive ahead. But he’ll listen to the
playlist James made him that he hasn’t dared to open since Paris, and he’ll open his windows
once he’s flying down the motorway. It isn’t a night for going home, and his flat is terribly
lonely in comparison, but that’s another bridge for another time.

Tonight, he drops the Porsche into second gear, puts the pedal to the floor, and drives with a
smile stretched clear from ear to ear.

Chapter End Notes

technically Primrose Hill doesn't allow any parking past midnight and would probably
not allow the brothers to be in the park at all, but we're suspending disbelief pls! also
suspend disbelief that there's even parking available in this area of London. it is for The
Plot™️okay???

the brothers make me so incredibly soft, and i have a lot of feelings about this scene in

there🫠
particular. it's a conversation ten years in the making and let's not forgot who got them

😭
Sirius talking about how they met James, how JAMES WASN'T HIS BEST
MAN BECAUSE THAT SPOT WAS FOR REGULUS sorry for the Sirius & James
#1 Friendship truthers, but no one replaces your sibling. and i don't think, no matter how
close Sirius & James are, that James could ever be Regulus. it's why James is like a
brother.

also the anger that Sirius has about other parents... in a lot of ways, i've always felt like
i'm half of Regulus and half of Sirius. i grew up in an environment similar to how i
picture Grimmauld Place. Regulus is the part that still calls them "Maman and Papa" and
can't quite give up this big embezzlement secret (subconsciously protecting them), and
Sirius is the part that creates distance by using first names and is so angry that Walburga
and Orion could've been good parents — they simply chose not to be. there's a lot of
anger and resentment that comes with those feelings.

but Sirius is also right that at some point you have to stop blaming everyone else. Sirius
is 28 here (and Regulus is 23). so Sirius has had a LOT of time to mature, to work
through all of this shit brought on by their parents and childhood. Sirius isn't meant to be
messy in this story; in a lot of ways, they're the grounding force for Regulus. Sirius was
messy, but they're better now. they had a support system that helped them through a
really difficult time, and Regulus seeing this is HUGE. understanding that Sirius isn't so
far off from them, that both of them have shared this battle with substance abuse, with
gender, with just who they are in general — it's huge.

which yeah! gender! the best way to put it is this: Regulus is where i am, and Sirius is
where i want to be. Sirius is so free in their expression and who they are. we'll see
Remus use he/she/they for Sirius, but almost everyone else will stick with 'they.' but
Sirius wears dresses and leather jackets and beat-up Docs and ripped jeans and cute tops
and just doesn't care what anyone thinks. considering Regulus isn't around anyone who
understands their journey, it's so special that they get to see Sirius free and expressive
with themself.

which is so very symbolic because they start separated but then share and— 😭
other brother moments: not looking up at the stars until after they share the cigarette,
and

😭
Sirius bringing the cigarettes they used to smoke together that they bought in Italy and
James having been the one to buy them and—

AND JAMES OH BABYYYYY if you read bittersuite then you know that Sirius was
mad at Regulus and this is why James kept them apart (to protect Regulus), but Regulus
didn't know that until...right now. And James really does think he fucked up and still put
Sirius first (and in a way, he still did). but he also didn't. he was doing the best he could
with a bad situation he created. watching Regulus spiral after Milan, then after Paris...
putting the brothers in the same room at that point would've meant absolute disaster.
Sirius needed time and so did Regulus. it doesn't excuse what James did, but i think this
gives Regulus a bit more perspective (and like they said, they've had time to distance
themself from what happened in Paris and be less angry about it).

also yes James made Regulus a playlist which is the exact same one he's listening to at
the end of bittersuite i don't want to talk about it they make me violently ill thank you :)
:)

anyway i have a lot of feelings about this chapter because i wrote soooo much of it
while writing Ch 1-19. i've been chomping at the bit to get here. i sat at my desk on
Saturday and put all of these pieces together and figured out what the brothers needed to
say to one another and i thought "i can wait until Friday" — wrong. no i can't. so i hope
you liked it <3 Ch 21's draft is also finished, so if i'm not super busy this week then i
might have it ready. but if not, it'll be out soon <3 see you in the next one!

as an aside and on a completely unrelated note, this story has given me both the strength
and courage (and inspiration) to write the Regulus character study i've been working on
since mid-2022... it won't come out (again) for a little bit since i want to finish CMU
before working on any other projects, but i spent a large portion of today pacing my

😭
kitchen and brain rotting with friends. i love them all so much for being so encouraging
both about this story and the character study
 street small, but it goes both ways
Chapter Notes

yes hi i’m posting this as i leave the Noah Kahan concert i cried several times
particularly for every single song actually who am i kidding AND THEN HE
BROUGHT OUT RENEE RAPP FOR STICK SEASON i will never be the same again
actually anyway enjoy i hope you like the chapter i’m gonna go stare at a wall in concert
depression mode now mwah <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The strangest thing about having Sirius back in his life is that it isn’t strange at all.

February bleeds into the early days of March, and Regulus watches the text thread with his
brother slowly lengthen. At first, their conversations are stilted and awkward. But then
Regulus sends a picture of his Lego room with the caption I do Legos, what do you do? and
Sirius responds with various snapshots of their sketchbook.

The pages are filled with watercolor landscapes, sketches of parks and people, and charcoal
studies of the same hands, eyes, and lips. Regulus smiles when he realizes the portraits are of
Remus—reading, washing dishes, sitting on the floor with half-built furniture, looking off
somewhere unknown.

Regulus can’t pinpoint the exact moment his anger and resentment at the thought of his
brother married and happy faded. He meant what he said under the stars—it must be nice to
have someone who knows and understands you the way Remus seems to know and
understand Sirius, and vice versa. He can’t find it in himself to be bitter anymore. Not when
he’s seen Sirius smile fondly when they talk about Remus. Regulus is rather happy his
brother found their person.

He does, however, find himself dwelling on the concept of a person more often than he wants
to.

It hits him hardest when he’s lying on his back in an unfamiliar bed, pushed up against a wall
to avoid hands that wander too much in their sleep. The sex was nice, a decent distraction,
but Regulus can’t sleep. Noah is out like a light, snoring softly with his face squished in his
pillow. He’s handsome, he’s funny, he’s not a perfect fit.

A week has passed since Regulus sat with Sirius on Primrose Hill. Since then, all he can
think about on a loop is Sirius saying James was begging me for weeks and he was more
concerned about protecting you from me and he can’t drive the Aston.

The hardest part about this new information is not knowing what to do with it. It’s completely
shifted the foundation of his ire. Nothing excuses what James did, but Regulus is so tired of
being angry. The fire burnt him out and left him hollow. Aching.

He’s not an idiot. Even as he lies in the darkness of Noah’s flat, staring unseeing up at the
ceiling, he knows he has to admit it to himself: James isn’t driving the Aston for the same
reason he shoved a box of Legos in the back of his closet. It’s why he refuses to wear even
his most favorite sets to the club and bought a slew of new ones instead.

Regulus has never been in love like this.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, but swallow it he does. And he swallows it again when the sun
finally rises, bathing Noah’s flat in a golden glow. Regulus hasn’t slept for even a minute. His
mind hasn’t stopped racing, and he needs to leave.

When Noah rolls over, sliding a hand over his bare stomach to loop an arm around his waist
and pull, Regulus comes to the startling and final conclusion that Noah is not and never will
be his person. Perhaps it would have been different if Noah had managed to catch Regulus
first, but he doesn’t think so. There’s no spark or excitement. No early morning giggle when
lips tickle sensitive skin.

“I should get going,” Regulus croaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. “I promised Sirius I
would visit the bookstore today, and it’s a bit of a drive from here.”

Warm breath puffs over Regulus’ abdomen. “Surely he can wait? It’s barely past seven.”

Regulus winces. “Don’t use ‘he’ for Sirius. I told you that.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Still getting used to that bit.”

This is what keeps Regulus’ own feelings about identity locked up tight. The thought of
sharing it with Noah unsettles him down to his bones.

He’s talked to Sirius about it more and more over the last few days. Questions he didn’t even
know he had come to the surface at random times, and he finds himself messaging Sirius in
the middle of a lecture to ask, How often do you change your pronouns? Do you mostly find
affirmation through clothing like I do or are there other ways? What if someone tells me I
don’t ‘look’ feminine enough to use she/her?

Sirius’ replies are always long and thoughtful, addressing each question with care. Regulus
sinks down in his seat at the very back of the lecture hall to read them in private. Sometimes
he misses every single word his professor says over the duration of a class, too absorbed in
the new questions that pile up with each new answer.

For all of Noah’s sexuality and queer theory studies, Regulus just can’t bring himself to be
honest. He tried after Noah continued to use he for Sirius even though Regulus only used
they. He wanted to say, I’m like my brother, but I’m not exactly like my brother, so maybe…
But the words caught in his throat, choking him, and he quietly pushed the last bits of his
salad around on his plate instead.
The worst part is Sirius’ answers sometimes mention Remus, and how he’s the one person in
the whole world who Sirius trusts to help them navigate this mess that is gender and
sexuality. That affirmation from strangers can be gratifying, but Remus saying, She’s
beautiful, isn’t she? to a whole room of people feels better than a thousand kind words from
strangers.

Regulus doesn’t think affirmation from Noah would feel like much of anything.

He lets Noah make him coffee even though he’d much rather get going. It’s a Friday
morning; London traffic will be horrific, and he was stupid enough to drive the Porsche here
instead of taking the tube. It will take a lifetime to get across the city to the quaint little spot
where the Chocolate Frog is located.

“Call me later?” asks Noah when Regulus is busy lacing up his Docs. “I know you work this
weekend, but… What if I came by?”

Regulus straightens so fast blood rushes to his head. “Sorry?”

“Maybe I can come to the club? It’d be cool to see you dance and—”

“No.”

Noah blinks slowly. “Oh. Okay. Any particular reason?”

“It’s… No. I would be uncomfortable.”

“Because it’s me?”

“Sure.” Regulus reaches for his keys on a hook by the door. “I don’t let guys I’m seeing come
to the club. It can get messy sometimes. And we’re not ‘together,’ so I just don’t think there’s
a reason for it.”

At this, Noah scratches the side of his nose with a frown. Steam rises from his coffee mug,
curling around his face. “We’ve been on a few dates. Slept together. But we’re… What?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this conversation.

“We’re casual,” Regulus mutters, spinning his keys nervously around his index finger. “I’m
not… Look, my life is a little insane right now. I’m dealing with—”

Losing the man who might’ve been the love of my life.

A once-estranged-but-now-very-much-not-estranged big brother.

The possibility that I might actually be an addict, which is terrifying.

“—too much,” he finishes through gritted teeth. “I don’t think I can do a relationship right
now.”
“Got it.” Noah doesn’t seem like he gets it at all. A muscle in his jaw feathers, and he shifts
away. “Call me whenever you feel like it, then.”

“It’s not personal. You’re great. Really. But my life is just a little messy right now, and I think
—”

“This is giving ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ Call when you want to fuck or whatever.” Noah’s tone
is bitter and accusatory. It raises Regulus’ hackles, but before he can snap a reply, Noah says,
“I thought you said you have to go. Your brother is waiting, isn’t he?”

Regulus doesn’t bother with a proper goodbye, and he makes sure to slam the door on his
way out.

“He sounds like a fucking dick,” Sirius says around the lolly between their teeth.

They’re sat on the reception desk, one leg crossed over the other, the heel of their beat-up
Docs banging against the old wood. Every time Remus walks by, he glares. Sirius only blows
him a kiss.

In a mocking tone, they continue, “‘I study queer theory, but I can’t even get pronouns right.’
Be so for real.” Sirius rolls their eyes back far enough Regulus can only see the whites.
“Some Grade A fucking intellectual he is.”

“I think it was on purpose.”

“Even worse!”

“Volume, sweetheart,” Remus mutters, marching between them with an armful of classic
titles.

This time, Sirius sticks out their tongue at Remus’ back. It’s tinted bright blue from the
raspberry-flavored lolly. “What do you see in this guy anyway?” they ask Regulus, kicking
their heel against the desk extra hard when Remus walks past again.

Regulus doesn’t really have an answer. He came here without a clue what to expect, but has
found it surprisingly easy to relax in the comfort of the Chocolate Frog. He even catches
himself giggling when Remus shoots Sirius yet another scathing, pointed look when they
continue to beat a steady rhythm against the desk with their heel.

There’s no meeting at the community center today, and his friends canceled Friday Film
Night since Lily and Pandora are out of town, so Regulus has the entire day to spend with
Sirius. And Remus, apparently.

He doesn’t want to go to their house yet, even though Sirius said it’s nearby. It feels like too
much too soon. Regulus is choosing to treat this the same way he treats his meetings—with
each one he attends, he moves up one row. He doesn’t have a plan yet for when he nears the
front, but with every meeting he tries a little more. Listens a little better. Grows a little less
terrified.

Minnie still addresses him as Leo. It feels like a performance that keeps his soft underbelly
safe. No one can hurt Leo, because Leo doesn’t exist. But Regulus is very real, and not
confident enough yet to take off the mask that’s keeping him safe.

Except today, Regulus doesn’t have to be Leo.

Today, he can be Sirius’ little sibling.

The Chocolate Frog is larger than Regulus expected. It’s warm and welcoming, with a
singular door to mark the entrance, which is bracketed by two large window bays full of
curated displays. Over the door in giant gold, serif lettering is THE CHOCOLATE FROG,
and above the name is a row of potted plants on a ledge. Floor to ceiling windows wrap
around a first-floor corner of the building; it’s a café full of seats, all of them filled with
people buried in books or laptops.

The ground floor covers a ridiculous amount of space. There are sporadically interspersed
tables covered in stacks of books. He leans against one with a sign that reads Don’t Tell Your
Mum You Read This… (Or Do, And Gift Her A Copy for Half-Off!); it’s covered in erotica
titles with covers featuring handcuffs, leashes, and collars.

Regulus keeps his back to the table so his wandering eyes don’t give him away.

At the very back of the ground floor is the reception desk where Sirius sits now, still rolling
the blue raspberry lolly around behind their teeth. Their hair is pulled back in a half-up, half-
down style. A new chopstick is stuck through the bun to keep it in place, while the rest of
their locks fall in loose waves past their shoulders.

But what took Regulus by surprise when he first walked in was the dress. Perhaps it’s
because both times Regulus has seen Sirius, it’s been when they wore ripped jeans and a
leather jacket. So the black sundress with a sweetheart neckline is different, though Sirius
wears it with the same ease and confidence they wear everything else. But like a signature,
they still sport their leather jacket and beat-up Docs.

Which Remus is glaring at—again.

“My love,” he says, sickly sweet and slightly biting, “if you put a dent in that desk, I’m going
to be a little pissed about it.”

“I’m not gonna put a dent in the desk, Moons.”

“You will if you keep banging your shoe like that.”

“This desk is ancient. It’s survived wars. It can survive me.”

“I highly doubt that,” Remus scoffs, gathering another pile of books in his arms. “And it
hasn’t survived wars. Quit being dramatic. It was just very expensive. Too expensive for
dents.”

Sirius smirks, watching Remus walk past. “But I feel like we’ve gotten our money’s worth.
Don’t you?”

“Still here,” Regulus mutters drily. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at his
brother, who only laughs with a sparkle in their eyes.

“Sorry, Reggie. But you haven’t told me what you see in this Nick guy, anyway.”

“Noah.”

Remus snorts from where he’s bent down in front of a nearby row of tall bookshelves.

“He’s nice,” Regulus offers, shrugging halfheartedly. “And our conversations are
stimulating.”

“The bar is in Hell,” Sirius says flatly.

“I mean it! He’s really smart. I think I just hurt his feelings this morning.”

“So he intentionally misgenders me? The audacity.”

Regulus picks a nonexistent piece of lint off his jumper sleeve. It’s the color of sea foam, and
cropped so a sliver of his abdomen shows between the hem and waistband of his jeans.
Outside is warm, but the bookstore is comfortably cool. Better for the books, Remus
explained.

“Do you even like him, Reggie?” asks Sirius, popping the lolly from their mouth. “And I’m
not asking this in a ‘I want you to talk to James’ way. You know that’s all your choice. But
everything you’ve told me about this guy is that he’s nice, he’s smart, and he’s cute. I can
throw this lolly and hit someone nice, smart, and cute. It’s a base metric.”

“Please do not throw candy in my bookstore,” Remus mutters, passing through them again.

“Our bookstore.”

Remus points an accusatory finger in Sirius’ direction, then hoists another stack of classics
off the table he’s been moving and reorganizing for the last twenty minutes. “Do either of you
want my opinion?”

“No,” Regulus says at the same time Sirius says, “Always.”

“I think you can do better, Reg,” Remus offers anyway. He sets the stack of books gently on
the new table, shifting them around so they’re in front of a taller stack. “I’m also not saying
this in a ‘I want you to talk to James’ way. But would you bring him around your friends?”

“Probably not. Barty would eat him alive, then use the bones to pick his teeth.”
Sirius stops banging their heel on the desk. “Would you bring him around us? Me and
Remus?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think so. Not after what he said this morning.” Regulus picks more
nonexistent lint off his jumper sleeve, avoiding Sirius’ piercing stare. “He doesn’t know
much about me. Not in any detail. I didn’t tell him about our family, and he doesn’t know
anything about the last few years. I keep the NA meetings secret.”

“You shouldn’t have to. All of that is a part of you.”

“I just met him. He doesn’t need to know I’ve got a coke problem.”

Sirius tilts their head. “No one needs to know. But the important people know, don’t they?”

Regulus doesn’t answer, but his lack of response is answer enough. Every person in his life
who matters knows that he’s unavailable past four o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays, and
Saturdays. Even if he doesn’t talk during the meetings, he shows up for every single one.

But when Noah asks, he simply says I’m busy, or that day isn’t good for me, can we try
another? It makes Regulus feel like he’s hiding something. Besides, Sirius is right. No one
needs to know.

So why does it bother Regulus so much that Noah doesn’t?

“How about this,” Sirius says with a slightly nervous lilt in their voice. “Remus’ birthday is
the tenth. We’re taking a weekend trip up to Scotland so we won’t be around, but the
weekend after we’re throwing a little party at our house.”

Regulus frowns slightly, but Sirius holds up a placating hand.

“I know you’re not comfortable coming by yet. But the invitation will remain open
regardless. And I hope you’ll at least come around here more often. Baby steps, right?”

“Baby steps,” Regulus repeats with a firm nod.

“But if you are comfortable, you’re welcome to come to the party for Remus’ birthday. I will
also allow Nate—”

“Noah,” Remus corrects, but Sirius flaps a dismissive hand in his direction.

“I will allow Noah one chance, if you want to bring him. I’ll even forgive him for being an
angry little dick to you this morning.” Sirius’ nose wrinkles with distaste. “Actually, no. I
won’t forgive him for that. But I’ll let it go if you want me to.”

“And if I don’t bring him?”

Sirius shrugs. “Then don’t bring him. But if you really like him and want him in your life,
then you’ll want him around the people who matter to you. Right?”

“I guess so.”
“There’s no pressure, Reggie. Do whatever you want. But the invitation is open if that’s what
you want to do. Okay?”

Regulus nods slowly, then pushes off the table’s edge. “I’m gonna go upstairs to the café and
grab a coffee. Do you want anything?”

“Another lolly, please,” Sirius singsongs, tossing the little white stick in the rubbish bin
behind the counter.

“You’ll rot your teeth from all that sugar,” Remus says with a sigh.

Sirius simply grins wide as the Cheshire Cat, their teeth tinted blue, and a laugh bubbles out
of Regulus before he can stop it. He’s still laughing when Sirius slides off the edge of the
reception desk, hooks an arm through his, and marches them both toward the staircase
leading up to the café.

“He can be such an old man sometimes,” they say, but their grin is fond. “A lolly here and
there isn’t going to rot my teeth.”

“You’ve had three.”

Sirius guffaws. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side?”

“No. Never,” Regulus says firmly. “I’m definitely on yours.”

It earns him a bright laugh, one he went years without but has heard so many times this last
week alone. It fills him with something warm, something new. Something altogether better
than what he’s felt for years.

He drops his head on Sirius’ shoulder, smiling wider when they reach up to ruffle his curls,
and thinks perhaps baby steps might be the best steps of them all.

Regulus begins to spend more time at the Chocolate Frog than he doesn’t.

After the second day he spends sitting on the reception desk, Remus gives him tasks. Nothing
monumental that might burn the whole bookstore down, but small ones that keep him busy.
That make him feel like he’s a part of this little world that is Sirius’ safe space and Remus’
passion project.

They argue about books, mostly. Regulus has strong opinions, but so does Remus. Sirius
usually watches with vague amusement and a lolly between their teeth.

“You can’t seriously be for the Greens!” Regulus seethes, passing a book up to Remus who’s
rearranging a shelf so high it requires a ladder.
“For the thousandth time, I’m not,” Remus volleys back. “I’m not for anyone.”

“No choice is still a choice!”

“Volume,” Sirius deadpans, but Regulus and Remus ignore them.

“I just think that’s very black and white thinking, and it’s missing the point,” Remus argues.
He holds out his hand for Regulus to pass him another book.

Regulus scowls. “Which is?”

“That it’s a war caused and then perpetuated by both sides.”

“I think Aemond started it.”

“So did Daemon.”

Sirius sighs dramatically from where they stand behind the reception desk.

“But it’s a domino effect! You have to find the first domino,” Regulus argues, crossing his
arms and glaring up at Remus. “And you’re saying there is no first domino, which is wrong.”

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

Sirius cackles when Regulus stomps his foot for emphasis. “Oh, my God. You’re throwing a
tantrum like you used to do when we were kids.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

“Remus isn’t listening to me.”

This only serves to make Remus laugh. “No, Remus isn’t agreeing with you. Hand me
another book. You’re slacking, and I don’t want to spend all day working on one shelf.”

“I should chuck this at your head,” Regulus mutters bitterly, but he sets the book in Remus’
outstretched hand.

“You know,” Sirius muses, “if you two keep on arguing like this, you’re going to spoil the
entire plot for the whole store, and then no one will want to buy the book.”

Regulus turns his scowl on Sirius. “We’re debating.”

“This is us getting along,” Remus adds. He holds another hand out, and Regulus smacks a
heavy book into it. “Isn’t this what you wanted, sweetheart?”

Sirius purses their lips. “It’s strangely adorable. Carry on. Fuck the sales.”
It’s another five minutes before Remus rolls the ladder further down the row of bookshelves.
Regulus trails behind with the cart, still seething about Remus’ apparent gift for “seeing both
sides,” as he calls it. In the end, though, Regulus does get him to admit the Blacks have a
stronger claim, which is enough to feel like he’s won the war himself.

Later, after the bookstore has closed, Regulus and Sirius sit cross-legged on the reception
desk (sans Docs to avoid Remus’ ire). They each nurse a mug of hot chocolate. Sirius’ has
too many marshmallows, and Regulus’ has exactly four.

“How are your meetings going?” asks Sirius gently, blowing on the top of their drink.

“Good. I have another one tomorrow. Saturday ones are my favorite because there are more
people. No one really notices that I’m there.”

Sirius hums low under their breath. “It can take time to feel comfortable. It took me a while.
But the people there are in the same boat as you. There’s something nice about that.”

“There is.” Regulus sips his hot chocolate, content to chew on Sirius’ words for a moment.
“Honestly? I haven’t thought about it much at all lately. This is what happened last time. I
just…stopped wanting to use.”

“It’s not always a constant desire. Not for every person. For some, it can come and go. There
are days I don’t think about alcohol at all. I can be around people who are drinking and be
completely fine. But on the bad days?” Sirius shakes their head. “It will creep up on you.
Something will happen that puts you back in that place, and you’ll crave it.”

“Makes me feel like a fraud, though,” Regulus mumbles quietly.

The bookstore is deserted. Remus disappeared in the stacks and left the brothers alone with
their hot chocolate. Sirius is in ripped jeans and a leather jacket today. Regulus has clothes in
a bag in his car; it’ll be straight to the club from here.

“Just because your story isn’t exactly like someone else’s doesn’t make it any less valid,”
Sirius says, nudging him gently. “It’s good you don’t want to do coke twenty-four seven.
That’s progress. But the meetings are a place for you to talk about why you sometimes want
to. It’s a place you’re supposed to feel heard and seen. No one’s going to judge your story,
Reggie.”

“I guess you’re right.” Regulus chews on a marshmallow that’s slipped into his mouth.
Swallowing thickly, he asks, “How’s James?”

Sirius’ brows shoot up to their hairline. “Not something I expected you to ask.”

“I’ve been…thinking about him. Us. This whole mess.”

“That’s good.”

“Is he doing better?”

“Not really,” Sirius admits, somewhat reluctantly. “But we managed to get him out of work
mode long enough to come to our house for dinner the other night.”

Regulus sips his hot chocolate and says nothing.

“He asked about you, too.”

Still, Regulus remains quiet.

“I told him you’re spending a lot of time here. He seemed happy about that.” Sirius’ smile
dims slightly. “But he did ask if you’re seeing anyone.”

Regulus’ spine goes rigid.

“I couldn’t lie to him, Reggie. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t. I told him it’s not serious, that you’re
not even really into this guy, but… He does know.”

“That’s okay,” Regulus says, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “It’s not supposed to be a secret. I
didn’t tell you not to tell him.”

“I know, but…” Sirius glances sidelong at him. “Do you think you’ll bring Noah with you to
Remus’ party?”

Regulus slowly shakes his head. “No. He’s not coming with me. If James is going to be there,
then that’s like rubbing it in his face. Don’t you think?”

“It is a little cruel, yeah.”

“Besides, I think I’m going to break it off with him. I don’t feel like I can be me with him,
you know? I’m trying to explore all of these complex parts of myself, but I don’t think he’s
the person to help me through it. I’d rather do it alone than with someone like him.”

Sirius leans their head on Regulus’ shoulder, and everything smells of verbena, leather, and
the faintest hint of the cigarettes Sirius likes. “You’re not alone, Reggie. You’ve got all of
your friends, and now you have me and Remus, too. You don’t need Neil.”

“Noah.”

His brother simply laughs into their mug of hot chocolate and says, “I know what his name
is.”

That night, Regulus dances with his mind elsewhere. He goes through the motions of his
favorite routines, smiles demurely and looks up from underneath his lashes at his regulars,
and counts the night’s earnings before he leaves. He rarely works Friday nights anymore;
they earn him as much if not more than a slow Saturday.

It’s nearly three in the morning when he steps through his front door. There’s an unread
message from Noah in his phone, but he ignores it in favor of texting Sirius, who’s sent
pictures of them and Remus packing for their weekend trip.
When he’s finished, he strips out of his clothes and steps into the shower. His flat is
cavernous; it makes his skin crawl. He’s become all too familiar and used to the warmth of
the Chocolate Frog; he spends nearly every day there, except when he has meetings. Noah
has noticed the sudden downtick in time Regulus allots for him.

Hot water slides over his skin. He tilts his head back, letting it slip through his curls, over the
planes of his face. He would give anything to have company. And not the sort he has with
Noah, or the kind he can find on an app—but the kind that comes with a person you can sit in
comfortable silence with.

He’s spent the last two weeks watching his brother poke Remus’ buttons with a familiar,
teasing gentleness. But Remus never snaps or loses his temper. Most of the time, he simply
laughs in defeat, rolling his eyes while crooking a finger under Sirius’ chin to kiss them.

Regulus always looks away, but not because he’s grossed out by the affection. He pretends he
is, gagging and stomping off while Sirius makes a big show of looping their arms around
Remus’ neck. In truth, Regulus is simply more aware of the lonely ache in the moments when
Sirius smiles up at Remus than when he’s alone.

He had that easy affection, the smooth banter and bright laughter. And once you’ve had
something real, the loss of it becomes impossible to ignore. Everything after it feels
impossibly counterfeit.

Despite all that came to light in Paris, Regulus knows without a doubt that what he and James
had was real. Messy and imperfect, and perhaps not all that it could have been, but real.

He and Sirius are proof that even a shattered thing can be slowly pieced back together. It
takes time and effort, but some of the best days Regulus has ever had have happened these
last two weeks. Even when he’s reminded of the ten years he and Sirius lost, he isn’t as quick
to anger anymore. He simply reminds himself that nothing happens overnight, that this will
take time.

When he steps out of the shower, he throws on a long, black silk robe and ties the belt tight
around his waist. He goes through the motions of his usual routine, but the longer he’s out of
the shower, the louder the silence in his flat becomes.

It’s almost four when he connects his phone to the speaker in his living room. He puts on
James’ playlist at a low volume, then wanders into the room where he keeps his Legos.
Perhaps it’s longing that brings him here. This ache that plagues him more often than it
doesn’t.

Whatever it is, he opens the closet and sifts through a pile of empty boxes until he finds the
one he’s looking for. It’s ungodly heavy, but he manages to hoist it into his arms and get it
through the narrow doorway. He carries it to the living room instead of the kitchen, where a
half-finished set already sits on the table.

Humming along with the song—it’s in Spanish; he doesn’t know a lick of it except the
melody—he gently sets the Lego box on the carpet. But before he settles down, he wanders
into the kitchen.
Barty is letting him buy alcohol again so long as it isn’t hard liquor. All he has on the counter
is a vintage merlot that he purchased out of spite; it cost over £100, which is far more than he
ever spends on wine. He grabs a glass from the cabinets, uncorks the bottle, then pours to the
widest point. Not too much, not too little.

He leaves the bottle on the counter and wanders back into the living room. A new song plays,
this one also in Spanish, and Regulus continues humming along with the melody. He’s
familiar with so many of them now.

He sits between the coffee table and his sofa with his legs tucked underneath him. Slowly, he
opens the giant box. Dorcas helped him put the pieces back in organized packs and label
them with their appropriate numbers.

With each pack he pulls from the box, the ache in his chest grows. There are so many
memories in these pieces. Conversations spanning hours. Laughter and secrets shared. A love
slowly blooming.

There’s no telling how long this will take him, or what he plans to do once he’s finished.
There are a ridiculous number of steps to complete. But maybe, once he’s managed to put all
three parts of the Titanic back together, he’ll have a better idea of what he feels. What he
wants. Legos have always helped his mind settle. They haven’t failed him yet.

So he sets out the little bags of tiny pieces, lays the first instruction booklet flat, sips his wine
for some liquid courage—and only then, resolute and with a steadying breath, does Regulus
begin to build.

Regulus eases the Porsche to a stop across the street from a beautiful two-story home. His
phone dings, alerting him that he’s arrived at his destination.

He expected Sirius and Remus’ place to be a flat like his. Instead, it’s a quaint brick house
covered in climbing ivy, with white shutters on the windows, a peaked roof, and a small yard
surrounded by a low brick wall. The front door is painted a deep, warm maroon. On the
drive, Remus’ black Jeep sits parked next to Sirius’ Ducati, and—

“Shit,” Regulus hisses, heart leaping into his throat when his gaze settles on a McLaren. It’s
pristine, with limo tinted windows and not a speck of dirt on it. At first, he thinks it’s painted
black, but then the sun appears from behind dreary gray clouds, and the McLaren sparkles a
dark emerald green.

He can’t drive the Aston.

Regulus might be sick.

He knew James would be here. Sirius warned him, and it’s Remus’ birthday. Why would
James ever miss this? But the sight of the McLaren still twists his stomach into tight, painful
knots. It isn’t the Aston Martin, which might’ve sent him speeding back to his flat, but it still
means James is here.

It means he will have to look James in the eye for the first time in over a month.

He fiddles with the hem of his gray pleated skirt. He doesn’t have the courage to wear it to
lectures yet, but there will be complete strangers here. Who cares what they think of him?
Besides, Sirius and Remus will be proud.

Except they don’t know it’s the skirt—the same one he wore for James. It feels like a lifetime
ago now that he stood anxiously in the entryway of James’ flat, warm from head to toe under
a heated gaze. James will know exactly which skirt this is.

But today, Regulus is wearing it for himself.

He flinches.

No, that’s not quite right. Not today. Today, Regulus feels a bit more like they. Like none of
the boxes fit and transcending the spectrum is best. The skirt is feminine, as are the fishnet
tights and cropped burgundy jumper, but the Docs… These are a tether to the performance
Regulus has given for a lifetime.

But today is a new day, and it’s a day for trying new things. For finally trying something on
for size to see if it fits.

Sirius is here. Remus is here.

Regulus can be brave.

With a bracing breath, they open their door and step out onto the road. They can do this. It’ll
be fine. They can be in the same room as James. It was inevitable, wasn’t it? If Regulus
wants Sirius in their life, then it means James has to be here, too.

Even though they understand this, it doesn’t stop them from wanting to bolt in the opposite
direction the second they step foot on the drive. The McLaren is close enough to touch. It’s a
beautiful car, sleek and streamlined, and Regulus can’t help but wonder if James came alone,
or with someone in the passenger seat.

Regulus didn’t bring Noah. In fact, they haven’t spoken to Noah in days. They spend their
nights listening to James’ playlist while sitting on their living room floor, working slowly
through each bag of Lego pieces as the Titanic slowly comes back together.

But even though they want to, there’s no time to turn around and bolt. The front door opens,
and there’s Sirius grinning from ear to ear with both arms stretched wide.

“Reggie! I’m so glad you’re here.” Sirius throws their arms around Regulus, almost knocking
both of them off of their feet. “You look fantastic. Are you feeling alright?”
“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Sirius stiffens. “Yeah, he’s here.”

“I don’t—Sirius, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.” Sirius squeezes Regulus gently. “Remus
will understand. We told James you might come, but I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to get his
hopes up or…”

Regulus inhales Sirius’ smell deep into their lungs. Today isn’t a leather jacket day, but the
basic black T-shirt still smells of it. Of that fresh lemon scent and the faintest hint of
cigarettes. And something woodsy that Regulus has come to learn is all Remus.

Sirius is here. Remus is here.

Regulus can be brave.

“I’ll be okay,” they say, stepping out of Sirius’ embrace. “It’s Remus’ birthday, so it’s
important. I should do this. I can’t run from him forever. Not if we’re both in your life.”

Sirius scratches the tip of their nose, then wrinkles it slightly. “It’s a bit ironic how before,
James was struggling to have us in his life, but now I’m the one struggling to have you both
in mine.”

“Are you seriously trying to find the irony in this?”

“No, I’m trying to make you laugh. But it’s clearly not working, so come inside. Remus is in
the kitchen playing bartender.”

Regulus lets Sirius take their hand and lead them up the short pathway to the front door, then
past the threshold. The house is just as warm and quaint on the inside as it is on the outside.
Pictures cover the walls, every frame filled with smiling faces Regulus recognizes as Sirius
and Remus’ friends.

To the immediate right of the front door is a small, dimly lit office. There’s a giant mahogany
desk and a high, button-backed chair. The entryway is half corridor and half staircase; it leads
to the first floor, where Regulus can see a small loft space with one wall lined with bursting
bookshelves.

Down the hall, an open doorway leads into the kitchen. A handful of people mill about, and
for a brief second, Regulus glimpses Remus walk quickly past the opening. He backtracks,
waving hello, before disappearing again.

“He takes the bartending bit very seriously,” Sirius explains, closing the door behind them.
“Do you want—”

But Sirius doesn’t get the chance to finish. Or maybe they do. Regulus will never know,
because their attention diverts the second they hear a bright, warm laugh drift from the living
room. This is a laugh more familiar to Regulus than their own. It’s been so long since they
heard it, but it’s exactly as they remember.

As they always dream of it.

Regulus doesn’t want to look for the source of that laugh, but it’s hard to avoid when the man
it belongs to steps through the large opening in the wall across from the stairs. Just that like,
he materializes—all too real and very, very here.

At first, he’s nearly unrecognizable. The familiar parts—broad shoulders, stunning olive skin,
a head of dark curls that are longer now than they’ve ever been—punch the air from Regulus’
lungs. But there are new things. Scruff on a jaw Regulus nibbled on every morning; a five
o’clock shadow to define and sharpen the planes of an already handsome face. It ages him
gently, pushes him past twenty-eight and into his early thirties, and Regulus is loath to admit
it nearly brings them to their knees.

Regulus is so focused on him that they almost miss her.

She’s petite. Ridiculously pretty. The model type, but not because she paid for it, which is
almost worse. Her hair is long and bright blonde, falling in loose waves down her back. She
wears a lovely sky-blue blouse, and her jeans curve to the lines of her body. Her heels are
high, the point sharp, and she has one manicured hand curved around a bare bicep.

Regulus hates her.

They should turn around, walk right out the front door, and get back in their car. They don’t
need confirmation of this. Especially when they opted not to invite Noah. When they’ve
spent so many nights this week putting a stupid ship back together with their thoughts so full
of James they’re fit to burst.

Almost as if he heard his name in Regulus’ head, James turns to look over his shoulder.

There’s a smile on his lips, but it fades the moment his eyes settle on Regulus. A myriad of
emotions flash across his features too quickly for Regulus to catalog. But there are some that
remain on the surface.

Shock. Relief. Devastation. Terror.

Need.

“Regulus,” James whispers, and the last pieces of Regulus’ heart shatter. It’s the first time
they’ve heard their name in that voice in over a month. It’s more devastating than they
thought it would be. Nothing could’ve prepared them for this.

Or for the way James looks as devastated as they feel.

Even with all of Regulus’ limited knowledge on love, they know James’ low timbre like the
back of their hand. They know what it’s meant to sound like, and that crack down the center
is all wrong. This is a heart broken.
Sirius mumbles a string of swears, but no one else exists. It’s Regulus and James in this too
short corridor. The tension is so thick they could cut it with a knife.

But it’s broken when the woman hanging on James’ arm turns to follow his gaze. She
analyzes Regulus with narrowed eyes, one perfect brow arched. Then her shrewd stare shifts
back to James, who looks at Regulus with a stricken, slack-jawed expression that hides
absolutely nothing.

“Hello,” the woman says, lifting her chin. Her voice is snippy; she’s clearly peeved. “I’m
Kelsey. Who are you?”

Oh, yeah.

Regulus definitely hates her.

They brush past her and James, who tries to reach for them with a panicked, “Reg, wait—”
But Regulus is already gone. It’s rude and nasty, but they don’t care. Everything hurts too
much for them to feel sorry for being a dick.

“Make me something,” they say to Remus when they find him at the kitchen island pouring
drinks.

Remus stills, a metal cocktail shaker over his shoulder and an unimpressed look on his face.
In a flat tone, he says, “Hullo, Remus. Happy birthday. I’m so happy to see you, and I hope
you have a wonderful and fulfilling year full of nothing but happiness.”

Regulus flaps both hands in the air. “Yeah, yeah. Happy birthday. Make me a drink.”

“Do you ever say please?”

“I don’t have to. You’re my brother-in-law. And your birthday was last weekend, so I’m
technically in the clear.”

“Your logic is shit. And you’re not allowed to drink.”

Regulus scowls. “No, that’s Sirius who can’t drink. I’m not allowed to do coke. These are not
the same things.”

“You sure?”

“Remus.”

“Oh, wonderful. You remembered.” He finishes the cocktail, then slides it across the island to
a woman who’s watched their exchange with blatant curiosity. She smiles nervously at them
both before scurrying away when Regulus glares at her. “Quit scaring my friends,” Remus
says out of the corner of his mouth. “You just got here.”

“Why are you making drinks at your own birthday party?” asks Regulus, sliding into a bar
stool to rest their elbows on the granite countertop. It’s a stunning kitchen complete with dark
cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and plenty of personal touches. There’s a sliding glass
door that leads out to a small backyard fenced in by tall hedges.

Remus shrugs and reaches for a bottle of tequila. “I like to make drinks. It’s fun. I know a lot
of different cocktails. And it’s too much for Sirius, so I do it.”

“That’s sweet. Are you making mine now?”

“Not sure.”

“Fine. Will you please make me a cocktail?”

Remus places a hand over his heart and feigns surprise “A Black brother saying please? This
is a birthday to remember. What a gift.”

“If you weren’t the size of a moose, I would kick your ass in your own living room.”

“Remember who taught Sirius and James how to fight.” Remus uncorks the tequila, then
pauses. “Have you ever even seen a moose?”

“Of course not. This is England.”

“Right. Just checking.”

Remus pours half a shot of tequila in a tall glass he fills with small ice cubes. Then it’s a bit
of orange juice topped with grenadine. He garnishes the glass with an orange slice, then pops
in a cherry before adding a thin black straw.

“Here,” he says, sliding it gently across the countertop. “Tequila Sunrise. If you’re not
supposed to have that and Sirius rips me a new one for making it, then I’m kicking your ass
in my living room.”

“Is there cocaine in it?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I think I would remember adding that.”

Regulus flashes Remus a million-dollar grin. “Then we’re all good.” They rest their cheeks
on their fists and take the thin black straw between their teeth. It’s a delicious cocktail. They
can hardly taste the tequila, though this might be because Remus barely put any in the glass.

Clearing his throat, Remus leans close and says too low for anyone but Regulus to hear,
“They’re not here together. Kelsey runs the tattoo shop where Sirius used to work. She’s nice
enough, and Sirius is fond of her so he invites her to these things.”

“I don’t care.”
“She’s been trying to get in James’ bed for years, but he’s not interested in her.”

From Regulus’ bar stool, they can’t see down the hallway. But James’ low timbre, the slight
gravel of it, is impossible to miss. Regulus could parse it out of a thousand voices. “Seems
like he is.”

“He’s too nice. He doesn’t know how to tell someone he’s not interested in them because he’s
terrified of hurting their feelings. And Kelsey clings to him. She’ll spend the night on his
arm, and then James will leave without her and she’ll pout. Rinse and repeat until the next
time we’re all together, unless she has a boyfriend.”

“Good for her.” Regulus picks a nonexistent piece of lint from their skirt. “He fucks great, so
she’ll have a wonderful time.”

“Regulus, I’m serious. He isn’t interested in her. She just corners him. But you’re here now,
so I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

“He can do whatever he wants.”

“You’re being childish.”

“I’m being unbothered.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “It’s childish. You care. You wouldn’t be this pissed off if you didn’t.
Do something about it besides sulking.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t care.”

“Sirius acts like this sometimes.”

Regulus sticks out their tongue, scowling, but Remus only laughs.

“Sirius also does that.”

A man Regulus doesn’t recognize interrupts their exchange to ask Remus for a drink. It’s
another Tequila Sunrise, and Remus nods to the man with a gentle smile before returning to
his conversation with Regulus.

“If it’s any consolation, Kelsey is going to hate you as much as you hate her by the time
tonight is over. James can’t hide his emotions very well right now. I’m sure she saw
everything the second he looked at you.” Remus smiles warmly, and his words ring genuine
when he says, “You look great. Good on you for dressing how you want.”

“Sirius helped. They’re always so confident no matter what they wear.”

“Took a long time for them to get there, though. Lots of ups and downs.”

“Nothing happens overnight,” Regulus murmurs, swirling the thin black straw around in their
drink.
“Nope, it doesn’t.”

Regulus sighs and waves their hand in front of their face. “James has… He looks different.”

“The facial hair? Yeah, it got a little wild there for a second. He was starting to look just like
his dad. Monty has a whole beard moment going on right now. Sirius got James to trim and
tame it, though.”

“He looks fine. Better than you guys said he is.”

Honestly, James looks better than fine. He’s fitter, as if he’s been spending more time in the
gym than he used to. The scruff on his jaw is sexier than it should be, and Regulus is
admittedly a bit pissed he never bothered to grow it out when they were together.

But these extras don’t really matter. James on his own would be enough to bring Regulus to
their knees, especially after this long.

“James is good at pretending he’s okay. He doesn’t want people to worry about him,” Remus
says, finishing the Tequila Sunrise and sliding it across the counter to the man still waiting.

“Should I have…” Regulus frowns, staring into the bright orange depths of their drink.
“Maybe I should’ve stayed home.”

“No. Sirius wants you here. I want you here. Mary, Emmeline, Alice, and Frank are all here.
Peter is wandering around, too. You’re allowed to be a part of these things. You missed them
for ten years. And you can’t make up all of that time, but you can be here now. James
understands that. He’s a big boy.”

“But—”

“Reg. Stop. It’s fine.” Remus reaches out to gently squeeze their shoulder. “It’ll be weird for
a little while, but it’ll get better. I’m sure of it.”

Unfortunately, Remus is very, very wrong.

Regulus eventually musters up the courage to leave the safety of the kitchen. Remus makes
them one more Tequila Sunrise out of pity—I will not be making you another so make this
one last—which Regulus clings to like a lifeline. There’s hardly enough tequila in it to make
a difference, but it quells some of the nerves swirling in their gut.

Low music plays from the living room speaker. Regulus drifts from conversation to
conversation, fidgeting with their skirt, their jumper sleeves, the ring in their nose. They roll
their tongue around in their mouth, metal clinking against their teeth. It’s every anxious habit
they’ve ever had plaguing them at once.

Mary gives them a warm hug, with Emmeline and Alice following after. Frank throws an arm
around their shoulders when he sees Regulus, and Peter gives him a small wave and gentle
smile. Sirius appears every so often, but everyone knows them, so Regulus sees less of their
brother than they anticipated.
James keeps his distance, but Regulus knows where he is without needing to look for him.
It’s the weight of his stare, lingering too long to be inconspicuous. Regulus catches him
looking quickly away sometimes. His gaze is warm, gentle knuckles trailing down Regulus’
spine, feeling every vertebrae, and the loss of it makes them want to crawl across the floor on
all fours to beg for it back.

The living room is decidedly not big enough to hold both of them at once.

Regulus drains the last of their drink, feeling too much like they’re seconds from suffocating.
They need to get away from all of these people. Everyone is nice, but there are too many
names and faces they don’t recognize. They tell Mary they’ll be back, and she pats their arm
gently with an understanding nod.

They exit the living room, turn the corner for the kitchen, and—

“Oh, shit. Sorry about that. I didn’t—”

Regulus stops breathing. Too close too close too close. Everything smells of sandalwood and
citrus and home it smells like home and they haven’t been back in so long but here it is in
front of them close enough to touch close enough to have and it’s too much too soon.

Before James can say another word, Regulus bolts. Turns on their heel and runs, racing up
the stairs two at a time. It would take too much time to open the front door; upstairs is fine.
It’s far enough away, if they can find a bathroom. Ridiculously, they still cling to the tall glass
now full of nothing but ice.

There’s a bathroom at the end of a hall. It takes several misses before they find it, but once
they do, they slam the door behind them and turn on the faucet until the water comes out ice
cold. Their hands are shaking, their palms clammy.

God, what were they thinking? They should’ve stayed home. Should’ve stayed far away from
James until they knew they were better. Now it’s all a mess and—

Two gentle knocks on the door startle them. They jolt, splashing water on the counter.

“Someone’s in here,” Regulus says, clearing their throat.

“I know, Princess. I’m here for you.”

Regulus stops breathing again.

“You look good,” James says softly, that honey smooth voice washing over Regulus before
they can stop it. They turn off the water and everything goes silent. The party downstairs falls
away. “I’m glad you’re… The skirt. It’s…” James clears his throat. “I’m glad you wore it.
You look beautiful.”

Oh.

This was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Regulus grips the edge of the counter. Cold water drips from the tips of their fingers to the
floor.

“I’m not here with her,” James continues lowly, unaware of how Regulus’ heart threatens to
break their ribcage, desperate to crawl back into the hands that held it best. “And I won’t go
home with her. Even if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t go home with her. Or anyone, for that
matter.”

Regulus squeezes their eyes tightly shut.

Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it don’t—

They rip the door open, and James falls bodily into the bathroom. He makes a soft noise of
surprise. It’s quickly cut off when Regulus fists a hand in his shirt to yank him forward. It’s a
damn stupid thing to do, but Regulus pushes up on tiptoes, slides their hands up James’ chest
to curve to the familiar shape of his skull, and kisses him full on the mouth.

Everything else falls away. James doesn’t hesitate; he kicks the door shut behind him, loops
an arm around Regulus’ waist, and hoists them onto the counter’s edge. The kiss is messy
and desperate, two halves of a whole melting back together.

How could Regulus ever forget that James kisses like a fucking dream?

Regulus clings to him with hands in his hair, on his face, curved around the sides of his neck.
They slip cold fingers under the hem of his shirt, delighting in the sharp intake of breath
when their hands flatten over a tight abdomen.

“You’ve been—working out,” Regulus manages between kisses. They moan into James’
open mouth when his hand curves behind their knee, yanking them closer and hiking their leg
up around his hip.

“You’re in my head, love,” James says, digging his fingers into soft flesh. His other hand
rests at the small of Regulus’ back, radiating heat and urging them forward. “I’ve had to
find…distractions. Other things.”

Regulus gasps when James’ hand slips into their curls, forcing their head back so he can nose
from the soft hollow behind their ear, down the line of their jaw, to the underside of their
chin. It’s a whimper when James’ tongue traces tantalizing circles over their pulse point, the
scratch of that damn scruff new and so, so good.

“Christ, baby, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” James brings their lips
crashing back together. His tongue licks inside Regulus’ mouth; he tastes of whiskey. But to
Regulus, he says, “You taste like sunshine.”

“Tequila Sunrise,” Regulus mutters idiotically, whimpering when James huffs a soft laugh.
More, more, more. They haven’t felt like this in so long. Like there’s a fire in their veins
begging to be let loose.
When Regulus sucks on his bottom lip, James chuckles, but it quickly turns to a low groan
that Regulus would give anything to swallow, to bottle, to save for forever and a day.

James fits perfectly between their thighs. He tugs them impossibly close, slowing and
deepening the kiss when Regulus flattens their hands on the counter, uses the leverage to bear
down, and—

“Shit,” James hisses through gritted teeth, dropping his forehead into the curve of Regulus’
shoulder. “God, you’re sexy. It’s not fair. And this.” He fiddles with the bunched-up hem of
Regulus’ skirt, shaking his head minutely. “I’m so proud of you. I know you’re probably
anxious, but no one could ever tell. You look so confident and so—so you.”

“I’ve been—” Regulus tosses their head back, curving their body forward. “I’ve been—
figuring things—out, oh, that’s—James.”

They shudder at the ghost of a scratch over their skin. James leaves kisses in a trail down
their neck, lingering over their pulse point again. But this time, teeth nip at thin skin, and a
warm tongue follows the thick vein down, down, down to the neckline of their jumper. James
hooks a finger in the fabric to pull it aside.

“So good,” James mumbles, kissing hungrily over Regulus’ collarbone.

There’s a hand on Regulus’ thigh. It slips higher and higher, fingers drifting under the hem of
their skirt. They catch in the netting of Regulus’ tights, tugging gently but with purpose.
James runs his tongue from the hollow of Regulus’ throat, over their Adam’s apple, all the
way to flick their top lip.

“Tell me, love,” he murmurs, and Regulus shudders when a palm lays flat over their throat.
“Is he good to you?”

Regulus goes still as stone. “Who?”

“Don’t start.”

“He’s nice,” Regulus whispers, fingers curling around the edges of the counter. They lean
into James, but James pulls back.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Regulus swallows audibly, throat bobbing against the palm pressed gently to their neck.
When they try to look away from James’ piercing gaze, the hand shifts to grip their jaw.

“Is he good to you?”

“He’s…” Regulus searches James’ eyes. His pupils are blown to the edges, his hazel irises all
but gone. Warmth pools in Regulus’ abdomen, and they lean forward into James’ grip. “He’s
not you,” they finally admit, their voice so soft it’s little more than a breath. “None of them
were you.”

“Them?”
Regulus blinks slowly. “There were two others the night I came back from Paris.”

The answering silence is deafening. Regulus never intended to be so honest, but they’re
burning in the heat of James’ gaze. Trapped here like a butterfly with its wings pinned.

“Did you think of me?” asks James lowly, and Regulus startles. It isn’t the question they
expected.

“When?” Their chest hitches when James’ gaze drops, and the soft pad of his thumb presses
against their lower lip. They suck in a sharp breath, lips parting, and the thumb slips between
their teeth, pressing down on their tongue.

“Did you think of me when they were fucking you?” James clarifies easily, watching
Regulus’ lips wrap around his thumb like there’s nothing else in the world worth his
attention. He looks ready to eat Regulus alive, and they’ve never wanted to be someone’s
meal so badly in their life.

“Yes,” they whisper when James’ thumb slips from their mouth to settle on their bottom lip,
tugging gently. “I thought of you. I had to. It’s fucked up, but it’s the only way I could—Why
are you smiling?”

James lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. A pleased little smirk pulls at his lips.
“Because I wasn’t even there, but I’m still the one who made you come.”

“You’re such a cocky bastard.”

“Clearly for good reason. What did you think about?”

Regulus scowls. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Something must’ve been the ticket. Is it the way I talk you through it?” James ducks down,
taking Regulus’ earlobe between his teeth. “Did they tell you how good you are? How
perfect? How pretty you are when you take it? When you come? I bet they didn’t.”

No, they didn’t. But the words die in Regulus’ throat; James isn’t finished.

“Does he know the difference, Princess? Between when to tell you ‘good boy’ and ‘good
girl’?” James’ fingers find their way back to Regulus’ curls, winding through soft strands to
pull gently. “No one will ever be you for me. Do you really think someone will be me for
you?”

No.

They won’t.

But Regulus doesn’t say it. They bring James’ mouth back to theirs instead, kissing him like
this is the first true gulp of air after so long spent drowning. He smells like home, and
Regulus has wanted to go home for such a long time now.
There’s a new level of desperation in this kiss. How long have they been up here? Surely
someone has noticed their absence. Sirius and Remus definitely have. But Regulus doesn’t
care. They’re too busy fumbling with one hand to undo James’ belt, the buttons and zippers
of his jeans.

“I missed you so much and you—” James groans when Regulus slips a hand in his briefs.
“You taste so fucking good que no puedo—Fuck, baby, te deseo—”

But he cuts himself off entirely when Regulus thumbs over the head of his cock. Finds it
already leaking, a wet mess in his briefs. Regulus manages to stroke from base to tip,
thumbing through the slit again, and James falls apart, mumbling nonsensically against
Regulus’ lips.

“Good?” they ask, giggling into James’ open mouth.

“Yes. You’re gonna kill me, Princess.”

Smirking, Regulus teases, “Should I take off the rings?” They squeeze gently for emphasis,
and James whimpers.

“No,” he says on a punched-out breath when Regulus strokes him again. “Keep the—Shit,
keep the rings.”

There isn’t enough room for Regulus’ hand to properly move. They growl in frustration,
shoving James’ jeans and briefs down to mid-thigh. His cock springs free, ruddy and swollen.
Curved deliciously upward. Regulus wants to wrap their lips around it so badly their mouth
waters, but James pulls them into a searing kiss.

“This isn’t about me, love,” he murmurs even as he moans at Regulus’ touch. “I came up
here for you.”

“Do you think someone will come looking for us?”

“Fucking hope not. C’mere.”

James yanks Regulus closer, and their head falls back against the mirror. He’s on their throat
in an instant, hot breath blowing across overheated skin. They gasp, lashes fluttering, when
James crooks fingers in the netting of their tights.

“These are lovely,” he murmurs, teeth grazing Regulus’ collarbone, “but they need to go.”

Some of the netting rips when James yanks them down, his patience clearly obliterated.
Regulus giggles again, light and carefree and so damn pleased. James is as desperate as they
are. As needy and greedy and all manner of things neither of them should be.

But they are, and Regulus pushes up on their hands to cant their hips off the counter so James
can properly tug the ripped tights down around their ankles. Then his hands brush over
Regulus’ bare thighs, a touch they’ve longed for, and his words come out in a rush.

“Still as soft as I remember and the freckles, baby, I’ve missed them so…”
James drops to his knees before Regulus can process the absence of him. He yanks off
Regulus’ Docs, dropping them loudly on the floor. He tugs the tights off the rest of the way
and tosses them aside.

Then his face is between Regulus’ legs, one hand curved over a thigh from underneath while
the other disappears between his own legs. He hikes Regulus’ knees onto his shoulders,
humming low in his throat when they run fingers through his dark curls. He noses the hem of
their skirt out of his way, tracing constellations out of freckles with his tongue.

“Tell me what I can have,” James whispers, his hand shifting up to bunch the skirt around
Regulus’ hips. They wore briefs tonight, not at all expecting to find themself here, but James
doesn’t seem to notice the difference. He mouths over the hard length of Regulus’ cock with
the same enthusiasm he always has, licking it through cotton fabric and moaning when he
reaches the head. “Baby, what can I have?”

“I—I don’t know,” Regulus answers, heart racing like mad behind their ribs. “What do you
want?”

“Too much.”

Regulus fists their fingers in James’ hair, tugging with enough force he winces from the sting.
“Open your mouth.”

There’s no fight, but Regulus didn’t expect one. James is always willing. His eyes glaze over
when Regulus uses their free hand to shimmy their briefs down far enough to free their cock.
His gaze is hungry, that familiar need creeping in, and Regulus grips the base to press the tip
to his bottom lip.

“We’re inevitable, aren’t we?” whispers Regulus, and James merely smiles.

The second they heard James’ laugh when they walked in, the deal was as good as made.
There was no question that this is where they would end up—with James swallowing them to
the base as they arch forward with their head thrown back.

James’ mouth is wet and hot. Familiar. His throat constricts each time he swallows around
Regulus. His tongue runs broad strokes over the underside of Regulus’ cock, but swirls
around the tip when he pulls back. He breathes through his nose, the sounds obscene, and
Regulus mewls like a damn kitten when teeth graze gently along their shaft.

They open their eyes to see James looking back at them from underneath long, dark lashes.
His own hand pumps him in time with the rhythm he sets with his mouth, head bobbing
steadily as he works Regulus to the edge. There’s a knowing glint in his eyes.

Regulus wants this to last, but their body has been so desperate for something this good for
too long. Their stomach pulls tight, fire licking up their spine, and in a matter of minutes,
they’re frantically whispering, “James, I’m—I’m gonna—Oh, God.”

The only response is a low moan, an eager suck. Cheeks hollowed, and fingers dug into
Regulus’ thigh so hard the skin will surely bruise.
“James, I’m not—” Their words are cut off by a strangled moan. It rips through them like a
rubber band snapped after too much tension, and they spill down James’ throat with their
fingers fisted tightly in his curls to hold him still. He swallows, massaging gentle circles on
Regulus’ thighs long after the last tendrils of their orgasm slip away and they soften on
James’ tongue.

He looks up from underneath his lashes, pulling off slowly.

“I need to—” Regulus sputters a laugh at the sight of James’ hand. “I was going to ask you to
fuck me, but I guess never mind.” They fall back against the mirror, dizzy and warm clear to
their fingertips and toes. They reach out to brush sweaty curls away from James’ face.

Something flickers across his expression, and two deep lines form between his brows. His
eyes are terribly sad all of a sudden; Regulus’ heart sinks through the floor.

“What’s—”

Three quick knocks on the door startle them both.

“What?” Regulus snaps. “Who is it? We’re fucking busy.”

“Oh,” replies a disembodied voice from the other side of the door. “I didn’t realize this one
was… Sorry about that. I’ll just go back downstairs…”

Regulus doesn’t bother to wait and see if the person really does leave. It doesn’t matter—the
spell is broken. They turn back to James, terrified of what they’ll find reflected in his eyes.
“What is it?” they ask, heart sinking further with each passing second. “You don’t—Why are
you—Do you not want me anymore?”

Panic flashes across James’ features. “What? Baby, no. I—” He gets to his feet, adjusting
himself with a wince. He reaches around Regulus to wash his hands, all of his movements
frantic. Then he cradles Regulus’ face between cold, wet palms. The touch is too gentle. Too
reverent. “I want you so bad it’s breaking me to say this to you, but we can’t—we shouldn’t
have done this. And you know why as well as I do.”

It’s a too large elephant in this too small bathroom. This is the first time they’ve spoken since
Paris. The first time they’ve touched and kissed and… It’s been over a month, but the wound
that night left is still raw and open for them both. This was no better than sticking their
fingers in it and twisting.

Whatever this was, it can’t stitch them back together.

Whatever this was, it was as good as a mistake.

But Regulus doesn’t know how to talk about this. It’s too messy. They’re too tightly wound,
their emotions impossible to decipher and work through. They don’t want to talk, to make it
messier—because that’s what will inevitably happen if they open their mouth.

They are too good at ruining every great thing that’s ever been theirs.
“I can’t do us halfway,” whispers James, dropping his forehead against Regulus’. “And I love
you too much to ever want less than all of you.”

I didn’t mean what I said in Paris, Regulus wants to say, leaning forward into James’ warmth.
Maybe I did then, but I don’t anymore. I miss you, and I need you. But I don’t know how to
tell you. I don’t know how to forgive you yet.

Regulus closes their eyes, breathing in citrus and sandalwood and home.

“Are you still angry with me for what I did?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t lose you again. I’m not sure I’ll survive it this time.” James makes a pained sound.
“I’ll go, okay? You stay. Spend time with Sirius. I’ve celebrated plenty of birthdays with
Remus. I think I can miss this one.”

Regulus opens their eyes to find James has closed his. “That isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to
go.”

“It’s okay. I probably shouldn’t have come. You deserve space and I… This was not that.
Fuck.” James takes a deep breath, then steps back. Away.

The air is too heavy. There’s so much Regulus wants to say, but the words stick to the inside
of their throat. It’s difficult to swallow. To breathe. James is right, but they don’t want him to
be. They want to skip the difficult conversation, to let it be what it was when it was the best
they’d ever had.

But what does that truly resolve?

“I’ll go out first and say my goodbyes. They’re probably doing cake soon. Give me a few
minutes, yeah?” James runs a shaky hand through his hair. He leans against the door, as if
bracing himself when Regulus slides off the counter’s edge to right their briefs, the skirt.
They don’t reach for their Docs or the ripped tights.

Don’t go don’t go don’t go please don’t go.

“That night in Paris?” James has a hand on the doorknob, but his stare is fixed on Regulus.
“I’m sorry. For all of it. I am so, so fucking sorry. You were right. I should’ve put you first
the way you deserved. And I didn’t handle that night the way I should have. I didn’t slow
down to see how much it was all hurting you. Or how much I was hurting you. I was so
blinded by… It doesn’t matter what I intended. I didn’t do right by you or us, and for that, I
am so sorry.”

Regulus braces one hand on the counter for balance. Their vision blurs, but no tears fall.

“I miss you all of the time, but I know you’re trying to do better. So I’m sorry for this, too. I
should’ve stayed downstairs and left you alone. It was a lapse in judgment and I—” James
straightens, taking a deep breath. “I’m trying to be better for you. To deserve you, even if it’s
only a little bit. I don’t know that I’ll get there, or that you’ll even want me when I do, but
I’m trying. I’m sorry for this. I should’ve…” He inhales deeply again. “I love you, Regulus.
And I’m sorry.”

The door creaks open, but James pauses. He doesn’t step forward or turn back. He seems to
be waiting, tense from head to toe.

Regulus’ mind goes impossibly blank. Their tongue sits heavy behind their teeth with all of
the words they can’t get out to make James stay.

It isn’t until the door shuts softly, with James on the other side and Regulus terribly alone,
that they finally manage to croak, “No.”

But it’s too late. They’re rooted to the floor. Their legs don’t move. Instead, their knees give
out and they crumple. Their chest aches, like all of the warmth has been sucked from their
very bones. All they want is to chase the cold away, to fill the empty spaces with something
that makes them feel a little less than what they feel now.

They won’t, though. They can’t. They promised Sirius. They promised Barty, Evan, Lily,
Pandora, Dorcas, Marlene…

Themself.

Regulus doesn’t know how long they sit there, back pressed against the cabinets with their
arms wrapped tight around their legs. They stare at the opposite wall, lost in memories that
spiral out of their control. But eventually the bathroom door creaks open. A warm, familiar
body settles in the empty space next to them. With it comes verbena and leather.

“Are you alright, Reggie?”

Regulus shakes their head imperceptibly.

“James left a few minutes ago. Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes. No. Maybe.

Do not cry do not cry do not cry do not—

“Oh, Reggie. Come here.”

Sirius loops an arm around their shoulder and pulls them in close, shushing them gently when
the tears finally spill over. They bury their face in the fabric of Sirius’ shirt, crying until their
quiet sobs turn to soft sniffles.

“It’s so fucked up, Sirius,” they say, voice hoarse and trembling. “I didn’t want him to go, but
I didn’t say anything to make him stay. I just… I let him walk out. Didn’t even try. Why can I
never say what I need to say when it needs to be fucking said? I love him, and I can’t even
—” Regulus hiccups, swearing in frustration. “I miss him so much, but I’m always fucking
ruining things. I’ll ruin this, too. Somehow, I will.”
Sirius kisses the crown of their head. “You won’t ruin anything. And nothing is ruined now,
Reggie. I promise. You’ll figure it out. Both of you. You’ll find your way back. It just might
take some time.”

“But I didn’t—And I should’ve said—”

“You’re not ready. That’s okay.”

Regulus hiccups again. “He won’t wait forever. And he shouldn’t. Not for me.”

“For you? Please. James is ready to wait a lifetime and then some. He’s wickedly in love with
you, but he’s scared. He already lost you once. I don’t think he can take it a second time, and
right now, the risk is too high.”

Sirius leans their cheek on the top of Regulus’ head and sighs. “All I ask is that you don’t go
to him until you’re ready. You don’t have to forgive him right now, but you can’t give him
false hopes. Not after all that you’ve been through. It’ll break him. And I think it would break
you, too.”

Sniffling, Regulus wipes their nose on the back of their hand. “Thanks for coming up here to
check on me.”

Sirius jostles them gently. “What are big brothers for if not to fret over you? And also tease
you because no offense, but you’re a fucking mess.”

“Fuck off.” Regulus shoves an elbow into Sirius’ ribs, but they laugh despite themself. It
eases the weight on their chest. “James ripped my tights. Bloody animal. I can’t go out there
without them. It’ll be obvious.”

“Do you even want to go back downstairs?”

“Honestly? Not really. Is it okay if I stay here? You don’t have to. I know it’s Remus’
birthday. But I…” Regulus stretches their legs out in front of them, fidgeting their fingers in
their lap. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“We can stay here. Remus won’t mind. I told him I was coming to find you.”

“Are you sure?”

Sirius shifts to loop their arm through Regulus’. “I’m sure. We can stay here as long as you
need. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Regulus leans against Sirius’ shoulder and closes their eyes. Their body is still loose from
their orgasm, but their head is filled to the brim with far more than they can handle right now.
Thankfully, Sirius’ warm presence lulls them into a light, dreamless sleep. They don’t
remember drifting off, but sometime later, strong arms slip under their knees and behind their
shoulders, lifting them off the bathroom floor.
“James?” they murmur, head lolling on an unfamiliar shoulder.

“No. Sorry,” Remus says softly. He carries Regulus to an unfamiliar room and sets them
down on the bed. “Sirius will be up in a sec. He went to grab you some water.”

“Okay.” Regulus grabs a pillow and clutches it tight to his chest. He looks up at Remus
through narrowed, bleary eyes. “Thank you. And happy birthday. I’m sorry that I ruined it.”

Remus crouches down in front of them and offers a small, gentle smile. “Sirius once got so
drunk on my birthday that he fell down a flight of stairs and gave himself a concussion. We
spent the whole night in the emergency room. James got sick off of hospital food and threw
up in the bin. They both kept apologizing, but for some odd reason, it’s always been one of
my favorite birthdays. Maybe because it was so damn ridiculous.”

“That’s a very weird birthday to love.”

“Yeah, well. Sirius and James keep my life interesting. But trust me when I tell you that
birthday is difficult to top. You didn’t ruin anything, Reg. Get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Regulus repeats, burying their face in the pillow they clutch like a lifeline.
They don’t hear Remus leave, but the door clicks shut a few seconds later.

Regulus is half-asleep when Sirius finally comes in. They set two glasses of water on the
nightstand, then crawl in bed behind Regulus and curl around them. Sirius jumps slightly
when Regulus speaks.

“Remus said you gave yourself a concussion on his birthday and James got sick off of
hospital food.”

Sirius snorts a soft laugh. “Yeah. Not our finest moments. James kept pouring shots and I
refused to let him outpace me. But I forget sometimes that his mother birthed him with a
bottle of mezcal already fisted in his tiny baby hand. It takes a lot to get him proper drunk.
Me? Not so much.”

“I bet I could drink him under the table,” Regulus murmurs, their words slurred with
drowsiness.

“You can try it sometime. But on the ground floor, yeah? Nowhere near any stairs. Don’t
think our bloodline is good with those.”

Regulus chuckles. “Okay. No stairs.”

“Perfect. Remus will be thrilled.”

Silence settles, but Regulus turns over so they face Sirius before either of them can fall
asleep. “Hey, Sirius?” they whisper, and Sirius’ eyes open slowly.

“Mm?”

“Will you still be here when I wake up?”

 “Do you want me to be?”

Regulus’ brow furrows. It’s difficult to put thoughts together properly, but this only makes it
easier for them to be wholly honest. “Yeah,” they say. “That’d be nice. I’d like that.”

“Then I’ll still be here.”

“Okay. Thank you. Goodnight.”

Sirius reaches up to gently ruffle their curls. “Goodnight, Reggie. I love you.”

There’s a reply on Regulus’ tongue; three words can weigh so much when they’ve hardly
ever been said aloud. But Regulus is tired, already half in and out of sleep, and within a few
seconds, the world goes blissfully, wonderfully quiet.

Chapter End Notes

quick note/reminder that Remus is really the only one who uses gendered pronouns for
Sirius so if you notice him using he/she and not only they, it’s intentional! just in case
people aren’t sure.

right so Jegulus yeah they’re so very False God by Taylor Swift i mean "i know heaven's
a thing / i go there when you touch me / honey, hell is when i fight with you" and "the
altar is my hips / even if it's a false god / we'd still worship this love" and "i still do it for
you, babe" ... but then they're also so Unforgettable by French Montana like "it's not
good enough for me since i've been with you" and "it's not gonna work for you, nobody
can equal me" ...

ohhh so many things, but mostly — the brothers. the brothers. bickering at the
bookstore, laughing together. HEALING. finding their footing in these moments where
they can just bond. there's something so special about Regulus in Sirius' space, learning
what their brother has been up to all of this time. and Remus' bookstore! he's so proud of
it, his little passion project. bitching about the desk that has definitely had to be replaced
before for reasons other than Sirius' shoes.

also sorry but we're not fans of Noah :/ he's not a total dick, but he's not the best. he
wants to have the "what are we?" conversation and Regulus would rather jump off a

around the corner because oh oh oh oh ohhhh the bathroom scene 🫠

bridge. which like ... Reg, let the poor man go. let him live! but that's literally right
right in with the
Princess because James pulls NO punches, and he's missed Regulus so much this last
month.

so then Regulus shows up in that skirt, looking confident and good and so them. can we

😭
blame James for the lapse in judgment? for following Regulus up those stairs and letting
himself be all wrapped up in the moment and need?
but the point of it all is: they need to TALK. to have a conversation. to do what Sirius
and Regulus did and be honest and vulnerable. unfortunately, James is the last hurdle,
and i would argue he's Regulus' biggest hurdle. because while a sibling bond runs deep,
the bond you choose with someone you're in love with... Regulus is terrified of James,
and James is terrified of Regulus. they can hurt each other so badly and they have. but
James is still building his Lego apology, and Regulus is building the Titanic.

because James has the simple thing with fewer steps (aka less to forgive), whereas

🗣️
Regulus has this massive three piece thing made with thousands of pieces (aka more to
forgive, and more to work through). LEGOS AS A METAPHOR

also if y'all thought James was gonna be mad about Reg sleeping around? wrong. that
man is deeply pleased to know that Regulus couldn't come without thinking about him.
he's always cared an irrational amount about being the best. it's his toxic trait :/ so yeah
he doesn't care. i mean he cares, but in a "i'm getting my initials engraved on that collar i
bought for you so you never forget who you belong to" type of way.

last bit — Regulus will switch between he/they for the next few chapters. it won't be
consistently every other scene, but there will be switches depending on where their
headspace is at. this might be the only time it will switch within a scene as it's
happening, though this depends how the rest of Reg's journey with gender comes
through. they feel very safe with James to use a wider variety of pronouns and
expression, so once Jegulus is back together, there may be more switches.

anyway, 4 chapters left... i'm actually very, very sad about it 😭 i'm going to be
devastated when this story ends. living in it these last 4 months has been an absolute
gift. but i'm also excited for everyone to be happy, for all of the little things to wrap up
into nice little bows <3

i'll see you all in the next one!

 i don’t wanna feel like i felt last night
Chapter Notes

quick reminder that Reg’s narrative will shift between he/they for now, then he/they/she
in the final chapter(s) <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus wakes to sunlight streaming through a crack between cream-colored curtains. It

paints the small, tidy guest bedroom in soft golds. Regulus takes it all in slowly, feeling like a
snow globe that’s been shaken so hard its haphazardly glued together pieces have dislodged
and now float aimlessly without a tether.

Mercifully, they slept and did not dream.

Cruelly, the moment they wake, there’s a weight on their chest.

They could ignore it last night. The wound was still too fresh, not yet itchy from time and
healing. But in the soft light of morning, vulnerability feels inevitable. So does the itch. It
also feels like less of a weakness, like they can sit with this weight when the sun is still
relatively low and Sirius…

Sirius lies curled in a tight ball, breathing steadily with their forehead resting against
Regulus’ shoulder. At some point in the night, one or both of them pulled at the duvet.
Everything is warm and quiet. Sirius doesn’t snore.

Feeling the weight like an anvil on their ribs, Regulus takes a long strand of Sirius’ hair and
wraps it around their index finger. It’s soft and silky like their own. The same alluring shade
of a black so dark it’s almost blue in the right lighting. But Sirius’ curls are looser, weighed
down by the length of them. They’re more akin to soft waves.

Regulus unwraps the strand, then wraps it around their finger the other way. Sirius doesn’t
stir.

It isn’t a difficult thing to admit to themself anymore, though it’s still not an easy thing to say
aloud: Regulus has always loved Sirius. They loved Sirius when they were little and their big
brother knew everything. They loved Sirius when they felt left behind and pushed aside,
when they knew only bitterness. And they love Sirius now, when they’re still here just as they
promised.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus whispers so quietly they hardly hear their own voice. “I’m sorry I never
said it. I’m sorry you never got to hear it and spent all of this time not knowing.”

Sirius doesn’t stir.

Truthfully, Regulus doesn’t think they’ve ever said those three words to another human
being. Love has never been an emotion they feel they fully comprehend enough to put into
words. Rather, it feels like one more thing they can ruin. Platonic, familial, romantic—it
doesn’t matter.

Love is meant to be a good thing, and Regulus is notoriously great at ruining good things.

I love you—these are not difficult words for the rest of the world, so why are they such
difficult words for Regulus? What does it even mean to love and be loved?

Here in the golden light of a new day, with Sirius’ hair winding and unwinding around their
finger, Regulus has to wonder if perhaps this is the entire point. If maybe this has been their
roadblock all this time: love doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s allowed to simply exist. To
be felt. A feeling is a feeling; there’s no rhyme or reason behind it.

Perhaps there is no logic in love. And maybe that’s the whole point.

Which would be a fine thing to settle on, except there’s a bitter truth on their tongue that
they’ve yet to fully swallow. It’s the heaviest anvil on their chest. The one breaking all of
their ribs one by one and crushing them the most. Because it’s a love they chose, nurtured
over hoursdaysweeksmonths—and it’s a love they lost.

It is such an incredible thing to be known by another.

It’s also an irreplaceable, irreplicable thing.

Like an idiot, Regulus truly believed someone could replace James. After all, what’s so damn
special about James Potter? But as it turns out, the answer is rather simple and infuriating:
everything is special about James Potter, because no one else gets Regulus Black quite like he
does.

From something as simple as how Regulus likes to be kissed and touched and held, to
something as complicated as how wrong or right Regulus feels in their own skin—James
knows. He’s watched, listened, and worked hard to understand, like Regulus is a particularly
fascinating puzzle he’s hellbent on solving. And Regulus, notoriously stubborn to a fault,
didn’t think themself knowable, and even if they had, it never crossed their mind that
someone would find them palatable.

Regulus is an acquired taste. Not someone who will ever be for everyone. They’re something
ungodly expensive, occasionally high maintenance, and definitely bitter.

Like a vintage merlot, they think, the corners of their mouth quirking upward as they
continue to play with the strand of Sirius’ hair. Their thoughts are in Milan, in a hotel room
with bottles of expensive wine, incomprehensible Italian TV, and a man who made them feel
on top of the world.

Regulus knew then.

They know now.

And yet it remains not so simple a thing.

Sirius stirs. “You awake already?” they ask, rubbing their face in the sleeve of Regulus’
jumper. “What time is it?”

The clock on the nightstand reads 7:58 a.m. When Regulus says this to Sirius, the reply is a
long, dramatic groan.

“And you’re awake?” Sirius shakes their head groggily. “That’s disgusting.”

Regulus huffs a soft laugh. They still wind and unwind Sirius’ hair around their finger. “I
don’t sleep much. Insomnia is a bitch. I’m surprised I slept at all last night considering…”
They wince. One thing at a time, and they can’t think about James right now. Not here.

“You always had a hard time sleeping,” Sirius mutters with a yawn. They roll onto their back,
taking the strand of hair with them, and stretch all of their limbs. “Even when we were kids, I
remember you would either take ages to fall asleep, or you wouldn’t stay asleep.”

“Really? I don’t remember that.”

Sirius stiffens. “It’s better you don’t.” They sit up, rubbing knuckles into their eyes to clear
the last tendrils of drowsiness. “Do you know if Remus is awake? He’s an early riser. Much
earlier than me.”

“I heard someone in the hallway and then downstairs, but he didn’t come in here.”

“Ugh. I told him not to clean up without me. He never listens.” Sirius shuffles off the bed,
stretching left and then right, their arms overhead. They look over their shoulder at Regulus.
“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Regulus shakes their head. “A shower would be nice, though.”

With an elastic from their wrist, Sirius manages to wrangle their mess of locks into a messy
bun on top of their head. “Sure. I can give you some of my clothes, if you want. You were so
tired last night…” They jerk their chin at Regulus, who’s still wearing their clothes from the
night before. “And it’s okay if you want to go home, but Remus can make us breakfast once
you’re done. But no pressure.”

“Breakfast would be great.”

Sirius grins, clearly pleased and possibly a little relieved. “Brilliant. Yeah. One sec.” They
disappear into the hall, returning a few minutes later with an armful of clothes. It’s a
matching jumper and joggers set, as well as a new pair of briefs. But Sirius frowns when they
seem to take note of the way Regulus fiddles with the hem of their skirt. “Do you want
something else? I don’t really have skirts, but I have dresses.”

“Oh.” Regulus stops fiddling. Their cheeks burn. “No. It’s okay. This is fine. Dresses might
be…”

“Too much?”
“I don’t know.”

Sirius purses their lips and tilts their head slightly. “When I was trying to figure out what I
liked, I made Remus order almost five hundred quid worth of dresses online. I was terrified
to go in a store and ask someone to show me where the dresses were. I was scared they might
say something like, ‘But dresses are for women, and you’re not that.’ Which, fuck them. But
also, ouch. So I made Remus sit through an hour long runway of me trying things on. I cried
a few times.” Sirius snorts a laugh. “A lot, actually.”

“Did you keep the dresses?”

“One or two. I didn’t get the sizing right, so I had to try again.” Sirius shifts their weight from
foot to foot, then gently sets the pile of clothes on the edge of the bed. “My point is, if you
want to try something, I can help. If you’re…worried about it, or anxious. Whatever. I’ve
been there. And maybe we won’t be exactly the same. It’s all a bit weird and mushy. Gender,
I mean. But I… I didn’t get to help you figure out a lot of things. I wasn’t there. But I can be
there for this. This time, I can…” Sirius inhales a shaky breath. “This time, I can be a big
brother. A proper one.”

I love you. I’m sorry. I wasn’t there for you, either.

“Thank you,” Regulus whispers, reaching for the pile of clothes merely to have something to
do with their hands. They’re so tired of nervous fidgeting. “Maybe this week I can come
over, if that’s okay. Our sizes are different, but…”

Sirius nods vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely. Remus is gonna help Peter and his mom with
some stuff on Wednesday, if you wanna come over after your meeting. He won’t be home
until Thursday morning, so maybe we can make a night of it? I can order pizza, or…
Whatever you want. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t have to be a whole thing, either. I’m not—”

“That sounds good,” Regulus interjects, sliding off the bed and gathering the clothes in their
arms. “Don’t be so rambly. Smoke a cig and chill out.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius mutters, but it’s good-natured and slightly relieved. “I’m just trying not to
push you or be too much about all of this. We’re still…”

“Figuring it out?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Can’t figure it out if I don’t try too,
though. Wasn’t that half the problem that got us here in the first place?”

Sirius blows a puff of air past their lips. “Bit of a mess, aren’t we?”

“Considering our parents, I think we could definitely be worse.”

“Fair enough. You can use the bathroom across the hall. You and James already defiled it last
night, so you might as well use that shower,” Sirius quips, laughing when Regulus scowls.
“We didn’t ‘defile’ it. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You shagged in the guest bathroom of my house!”

Regulus scoffs. “We did not shag. We fooled around. There’s a difference. Trust me, you
would know if we shagged.”

“I am begging you to please keep the details of that to yourself.” Sirius turns on their heel
and marches out of the room with Regulus close behind. As they walk downstairs, Sirius
calls back over their shoulder, “I’ll get Moons to make us breakfast. Don’t take forever in
there!”

It’s impossible not to remember last night when Regulus steps inside the small bathroom. It’s
too narrow to avoid looking at the counter where James kissed them senseless. They strip
themself of last night’s outfit, fighting the urge to shove their face into the fabric of their
jumper. That woodsy-citrus smell still clings to it the same way James’ voice rattles around in
their skull.

Does he know the difference, Princess?

Regulus turns the shower to cold and steps in immediately, gritting their teeth against the icy
stream when it hits their skin. They’re overheating as memories of last night filter in one by
one.

Between when to tell you ‘good boy’ and ‘good girl’?

It’s an electric shock right through them, and Regulus makes a soft, startled noise. “No.
Nope. No,” they mumble, pinching the thin skin on the inside of their wrist. “You are not
going to think about it. Not here. Not right now. Nope.”

One hookup in their brother’s upstairs bathroom is an accident. Getting off on the memories
of that hookup the morning after? That’s questionable behavior even for Regulus.

They rush to scrub their skin clean, careful to keep their thoughts in neutral territory. They
have a meeting later today, then the club tonight. These are things that will help them focus
on everything that isn’t familiar hands and teeth that nibble deliciously on their collarbone
and a mouth that feels—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Regulus groans, smacking their hands on their cheeks—hot to the
touch, just like the rest of their body. They think of every terrible thing they can imagine,
staring up at the ceiling so they won’t be tempted to slide a hand down and— “Oh, my God.
What is wrong with me?”

Regulus turns the shower nozzle impossibly colder, spins around to face the stream, and
squeaks when cold water hits their front. But thankfully, it does the job; male anatomy was
not designed to withstand frigid temperatures.

It isn’t until they’re out of the shower, dried off and dressed in Sirius’ clothes, that the rest of
last night hits them. These parts don’t make their blood sizzle. Quite the opposite, in fact.
They stand in the same spot they stood when James faced the door, his shoulders hunched
forward and his voice broken along its edges. I’m sorry, he’d said, as if those weren’t the
most world-shattering words for him to utter in that moment.

I love you too much to ever want less than all of you.

A small, wounded noise escapes Regulus’ lips. What they wouldn’t give to go back in time
just twelve hours, take James’ face between their palms, and whisper, I love you too, you
absolutely perfect idiot of a man. Regulus knows it would make James laugh. Perhaps it
would make him cry, if only because it would mean Regulus chose to reach for him as much
as he reached for Regulus.

Instead, when James asked them if they were still angry, their only answer was the truth: I
don’t know.

But it’s also not the whole truth. This isn’t anger they feel—it’s fear.

Fear of a man who scaled every single one of their walls. Who learned how to push all of
their buttons in the most delicious ways. Who knows why they need the Legos. Why they
prefer to sleep cocooned in James’ arms, his chest against their back and all of their limbs
entangled. A man who knows their favorite songs and books and shows and movies and
colors and drinks and foods and…

Regulus allowed themself to be known for the first time in their entire life—and then James
shattered it in one fell swoop. No matter how good his intentions, Regulus is terrified of
giving someone that much power over them a second time. After all, what was it James said
last night?

I can’t lose you again. I’m not sure I’ll survive it this time.

No, this isn’t anger. Not even a little. Not anymore.

This is terror.

Regulus sits on the toilet lid with their head between their knees. How do two scared people
come back to each other? If James is as afraid of them as they are of James…

How do two people ever bridge a chasm that wide?

It requires a monumental effort to drag themself from the bathroom, but the smell of bacon
pulls them to their feet. Their stomach growls, empty and aching. But they’re in no rush to
wander downstairs. Instead, they peruse the hall with all of its photographs chronicling
various moments in Sirius’ life.

This isn’t like when they discovered the hidden frames under James’ bed. Then, they felt only
bitterness. But now? Now they catch themself smiling at some of the sillier photos. Like this
one of Sirius licking whipped cream off of Remus’ cheek. Or this one of Sirius on James’
back in what looks to be Times Square. Sirius’ tongue is in James’ ear; they both look young,
no older than their early twenties, and although James’ face is screwed up in disgust, it’s clear
he’s laughing. There’s a telltale crinkle in the corners of his eyes.

Regulus is filled suddenly with fondness and heartache. James and Sirius are best friends in
the way Barty and Regulus are. But how much damage has been done to this friendship over
the last few months? It seems as though they’ve found their footing again, but Regulus is still
a wrench thrown in the midst of it all.

They opt not to dwell on it, instead continuing down the line of photographs as they make
their way slowly towards the stairs. There are a few pictures of Sirius and Remus’ wedding.
One of them captures their first kiss after their vows. Both of them smile into it. Sirius’ hands
bracket Remus’ face, their thumb directly over the scar that cuts across his cheek.

Regulus aches to know they could’ve been there, smiling and laughing with the rest of the
people Sirius and Remus deemed important enough to be a part of this moment. Instead,
there was only an empty place where Regulus should’ve stood. But that isn’t all Sirius’ fault,
is it?

Each of them lived their life without the other. Two parallel lines someone turned just that
little bit they needed so they could run perpendicular again.

Rubbing their eyes, suddenly wet enough to blur their vision, Regulus finally makes their
way downstairs. They can hear two voices coming from the kitchen at the end of the hall—
Remus’ low baritone, and Sirius’ soft but smoky timbre. Their words are indiscernible.
Regulus is too distracted by runaway thoughts to pay much attention to the sudden shift in
Sirius’ voice, now sweet as spun sugar, and what it might mean.

This is their first mistake.

Their second is stepping into the kitchen without making themself known beforehand. Had
they bothered, they might have been spared from coming face to face with this—Sirius grins
up at Remus with their bottom lip between their teeth; their long, dark locks are wound
around scarred fingers as a hand pulls their head back. It takes Regulus a moment to register
what’s happening, but they make a scandalized noise when they realize Remus’ other hand
has disappeared inside Sirius’ joggers.

“Shit. Fuck. Oh, my God,” Regulus squeaks, covering their eyes and turning swiftly on their
heel. “I need to unsee this. Oh, my—Blegh. In the kitchen? At least I had the decency to be
indecent in a bathroom!” They start for the stairs, fully intending to stomp away, but only
manage to bang their elbow on the doorframe in their hurry to run. “Damn it. Ouch. Shit.
Bloody—”

Sirius’ cackle fills the warm kitchen. “Sorry, Reggie. We thought you were still in the
shower.”

“Nope. Not showering. Definitely not showering.”

“Clearly,” Remus deadpans. “Also, this is my house. I can be indecent wherever I want.”
Regulus makes an affronted noise. They’re too scared to turn around. Instead, they stand
awkwardly with their hands over their eyes. “Am I safe? Are you done being gross? Can I
look?”

“If you step two paces to the right,” Remus instructs drily, “then walk about twenty paces
forward, you’ll be in the clear and can go back up—”

He cuts himself off with a grunt like he’s been kicked, then Sirius admonishes, “Moons, no.
They can stay. It’s fine. Reggie, turn around. He’s just pissy he had to sleep alone.”

“I am not pissy.”

“You sure sound pissy.”

“Keep it up and—”

Regulus makes a gagging noise, furious they only have two hands for their eyes and not four
to also cover their ears. Suddenly, slender fingers encircle their wrists to tug their hands away
from their face. Sirius looks on with a fond but amused expression.

“Come on, Reggie. Remus is starting breakfast. There’s bacon in a pan, but what else would
you like? Eggs? Beans on toast? Avocado toast?”

Remus scoffs. “What is this? The Ritz?”

“Moony.”

“Fine.”

Sirius offers Regulus a warm smile. They pull their hair back up in a loose bun and nod to the
kitchen table. “Go. Have a seat. I’ll help Remus with breakfast.”

“I can do something,” Regulus argues, but Sirius waves a dismissive hand.

“No. Sit. You’re a guest.”

Remus rolls his eyes and sets a pan none-too-gently on the stove. “A guest who defiled our
bathroom.”

“I didn’t ‘defile’ it. That’s such a dramatic word!” Regulus drops into one of the wooden
chairs around the kitchen table and crosses their arms, glaring at Remus. “I meant what I said
to Sirius. We could’ve done so much worse.”

“I don’t particularly love how you seem to be taking this as a challenge,” Remus mutters.

“Because I am!”

“Maybe, oh, I don’t know, don’t? I didn’t realize inviting you both would mean I have to
bleach my bathroom counters the morning after.”
Regulus flips him off, and Remus echoes the gesture while cracking an egg on the rim of a
ceramic bowl.

“Can you two please knock it off?” Sirius whines, popping slices of bread in a toaster. “We’re
aiming for a peaceful, quiet breakfast. You know, the sort where everyone gets along.”

“We’re getting along just fine,” Regulus argues, to which Remus only grunts. But he doesn’t
disagree.

Instead, he asks, “Do you want anything to drink, Reg? We have orange juice. I can make tea.
Or coffee, if you want.”

“I thought this wasn’t the Ritz.”

“Reggie,” Sirius whines again, reaching for plates in an overhead cabinet. “Peaceful. Quiet.
Get along.”

Regulus pulls their knees to their chest with a sigh and looks out at the small backyard. “Fine.
Then yes. A glass of orange juice would be lovely. Please.”

A moment later, Remus sets a glance of orange juice in front of them with a small, amused
smile. “Here. Breakfast will be ready in a sec.” To Sirius, he says, “Sweetheart, can you grab
the spatula? No, the other one. Yes, perfect. Thanks, love.”

Regulus flinches at the easy endearment, the way it rolls off of Remus’ tongue like it’s meant
to be there. He and Sirius move around the kitchen in a seamless routine; it’s obvious they do
this on more mornings than they don’t. Sirius puts the ingredients on the island, and Remus
whips it all together on the stove.

As they go, Sirius recounts the events of Remus’ birthday party that Regulus missed. By all
accounts, it was a mellow evening. Kelsey went home with clear and bitter disappointment,
especially once guests put two and two together that Regulus and James were both
suspiciously missing, and the upstairs bathroom was deemed out of commission even after
James left.

“Don’t mind it, though,” Remus says, setting a plate of eggs, bacon, and avocado toast in
front of Regulus. The eggs are mixed with small red pepper bits, mushrooms, and cheese. “I
think my days of exciting and dramatic birthday parties are over. I’m almost thirty. I can take
it easy.”

“Tell that to James.” Sirius sits at the head of the small table with their own plate piled high
with food. “I have a feeling he’ll plan the most elaborate party for his thirtieth. It’ll be
something ridiculous and Great Gatsby-esque. I just know it.”

Regulus pushes their eggs around on their plate, attempting nonchalance when they ask, “Is
he doing anything for his twenty-ninth? It’s a few days away…”

Friday, to be precise. But who’s paying attention? Not Regulus, surely.

Deep lines form between Remus’ brows. He looks to Sirius, who’s busy munching on a piece
of avocado toast. “Did James say he’s doing anything for his birthday this year? He’s been
quiet about it to me.”

Sirius shakes their head, swallowing quickly. “No. He told me he doesn’t want to celebrate it.
I told him we can still go over if he wants company, but he was pretty adamant about wanting
to be alone.”

Regulus’ chest tightens. No one says it, but they don’t have to. The unspoken words hang
heavy in the air: it’s not like James to spend his birthday alone. He’s social. He likes
celebrations. It doesn’t make sense that he would choose to spend his birthday by himself
instead of surrounded by the people who love him most.

Except it does make sense, because the reason James doesn’t want company is currently
sitting at Sirius and Remus’ kitchen table, chewing awkwardly on eggs that now taste like
ash.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, curling in on themself. “If I’d said something last night, then
maybe—”

“Hey. None of that,” Remus snaps, but not unkindly. He points his fork at Regulus. “James is
a big boy. If he wants to spend his birthday alone, then that’s his prerogative. It’s not your
fault. Don’t apologize.”

Sirius shoots Remus a grateful glance, then reaches out across the table to ruffle Regulus’
curls. “Eat your breakfast, Reggie. We can talk about something else. How did your meetings
go this week?”

“Thank you,” they croak, sitting up straight to reach for their glass of orange juice.

It’s one syllable too short, those three words sitting heavy on their chest, but for at least a
little while, Regulus can almost breathe.

Monday afternoon marks another meeting finished and another row closer. Regulus feels a
sudden—and admittedly foreign—burst of pride to see how far he’s come when he stands to
leave.

He stares at the empty rows behind him. At the chair in the far corner where he started. There
are only a few more rows left for him to tackle; he’ll reach the first one in a matter of five
meetings. He sticks to the edges and away from the other attendees, but they notice him.
Seem curious about who he is, but don’t push with invasive questions. They simply offer
small, gentle smiles and the occasional tiny wave before leaving.

It’s as he’s on his own way out that Minnie calls to him from her chair at the very front.
“Leo? Can I have a moment before you go?”

Regulus doesn’t immediately register that Minnie is talking to him. He’s lost in thought, still
staring at the rows of empty chairs he’s tackled these last few weeks. But then she calls again,
this time waving a hand to catch his full attention.

“Can I have a moment?” she asks again, smiling in that gentle way of hers. It’s maternal
without ever being smothering. “I promise it won’t take long. I have something for you.”

“My birthday isn’t for three more months,” he says, slightly taken aback. “And you don’t
have to—”

Minnie cuts him off with a laugh and wave of her slender hand. “No, no. It’s not a birthday
present. But I will keep those three months in mind.” She beckons him closer, then says,
“Here. Hold out your hand.”

He does so tentatively, unsure of what to expect. It’s not often people he hardly knows give
him presents. What would Minnie ever think to gift him?

“For you,” she says simply, pressing a weighted gold coin into the center of his palm. It’s
sturdy, with smooth edges and an embossed front and back.

“What’s this?”

“A chip.”

He blinks several times. “But it’s a coin.”

“You can call it that, too. But more specifically, it’s a chip. Look closer.”

Regulus brings the gold piece up to his face to inspect it. It’s rather light now that he’s had it
in his hand for a moment, and it’s only slightly bigger than an old £2 coin. He dimly recalls
Orion collecting them in a fancy case in his office. But this coin is different than those ones
Orion collected. It’s special.

Because what’s engraved on the front and back makes him feel like there’s a fishbone lodged
in his throat:

30 DAYS

“How did you know?” he asks quietly, rubbing his thumb absently over the two numbers and
four letters.

“I’ve been keeping track since the first day you showed up outside.”
Regulus swallows, and the fishbone splinters. His voice is hoarse, broken all around its
edges, when he says, “I’ve never… No one ever gave me one. Before.”

“They’re generally given as gifts from one person in recovery to another. Sometimes family
members or friends can gift them too, but I think there’s camaraderie in one recovering addict
giving them as a gift. It’s a bit like saying, ‘I see you and your struggle, but you’re doing
great.’”

Oh, for hell’s sake. Regulus is going to cry.

“I don’t think you’re the type to make a big deal out of your successes, and that’s alright. But
I celebrate milestones and accomplishments. So I’m celebrating you,” Minnie says easily.
“You’re doing great, Leo, and—”

“Regulus,” he chokes out, still fiddling with the chip.

“Pardon?”

“My name. It isn’t Leo.” He looks up to meet her eyes, his bottom lip caught between his
teeth. “It’s Regulus.”

“Well, then. It’s nice to truly meet you, Regulus.” She doesn’t ask for an explanation. She
never does. And for this, Regulus is endlessly grateful.

“Thank you,” he says softly, still choking on the shards in his throat. “For this.”

Minnie reaches out to close his fingers over his palm, protecting the little gold coin in his
hand. “I didn’t do anything but order the chip. There are more, too. Sixty days, ninety days,
six months… You’re the one showing up and doing the work. I see you moving up a row
each meeting. You’re trying, and that’s half the battle.”

“Baby steps,” he murmurs mostly to himself, tucking the coin in his pocket.

“See you next time?”

Regulus nods enthusiastically, but before he turns to leave, he blurts, “My brother. The one I
told you about forever ago? They’re an alcoholic. Well, recovering. But. Yeah.”

“Ah. You’re talking now?”

“We are. It’s a long story, but it’s been a few weeks. Actually, the first meeting I went into
was the day Sirius came back.”

Minnie’s smile broadens. Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. “I’m very happy to hear that.
How is their recovery going?”

“They relapsed in November, but they’re doing better now. They have some of these, too.”
He pats his thigh over where the coin rests in his pocket. “They said they lost them when they
relapsed, but they’re working to get them back.”
“That’s brilliant. I’m glad you have someone close to you who understands.”

Regulus alternates his weight from foot to foot. He reaches up to spin the thin metal ring in
his nose. “What does it mean that we’re both… Is it genetic? I mean, we’re both really gay.
Well, I am. Surprise? Don’t know if I told you that. But if we somehow figured out a way to
have kids or something, would this be a thing we passed on or is it…” Regulus flinches.
“Sorry.”

Minnie merely smiles. “It could be genetic, yes. It could also be a product of your shared
environment. But Regulus, it could also mean absolutely nothing, except that now you know
you’re far from alone on this journey. That’s more than most of the people in this room can
say. And it’s not a lucky thing for you both to be addicts, but I hope you and your brother find
some comfort in knowing you’re both recovering. The why and how you got here matters far
less than that.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Regulus drops his hand, opting instead to stuff it in his pocket and
fiddle with the coin. “Thank you again for the chip. Order a sixty day one for me? I’m gonna
get one of those, too.”

She chuckles softly. “I don’t doubt you for a second. See you later, Regulus. Have a safe walk
home.”

Regulus hurries out of the community center with a bounce in his step that he didn’t have on
his way here. He’s stopped smoking cigarettes on his walks, but he’d give anything for a
celebratory one right now. The sun is shining, an unbelievable rarity for England, and the
weather is nice enough he wore a cropped T-shirt instead of a jumper. A cigarette would be
lovely.

Thirty days.

Thirty whole days.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since everything fell apart. But here he is, slowly
putting it all back together. Putting himself back together, which is immensely gratifying in a
way he never thought it would be. But it took recognizing that the only one responsible for
his destruction was himself, and thus the only one who can put him back together is also
himself.

He has no idea when the pieces fell into place and the connection was made. Perhaps
somewhere in the middle rows of chairs, when he found himself feeling a little less like a
puppet on strings and a little more like a human being.

There’s a smile on his face so broad his cheeks hurt when he calls the first person he wants to
tell.

“Hi, Reggie,” Sirius says after the second ring. “You coming by today after all?”

“I got a chip.”
“Pardon?”

“Thirty days. Minnie just gave it to me now.”

Sirius makes a sound somewhere between a whoop and a joyous burst of laughter. “Oh, that
is fucking fantastic. I’m so proud of you. Feels good, doesn’t it? Those chips are tiny as hell,
but I love them. They mean so much.”

“Yeah, I wanna get the sixty day one. I’ll collect ‘em all.” Regulus pulls the little gold coin
out of his pocket and holds it up to the sky. It’s a clear day with few clouds. Sunlight glints
off the gold lacquer. “And I’m close to the front. I only have a few more rows left.”

“Are you gonna talk when you get up there?”

“Dunno. Maybe. I don’t know what to say.”

Sirius sucks their teeth. “You say whatever you want. Share as much or as little as you want
people to know. Even if you just get up there to say, ‘Hi, I’m Regulus,’ that’s huge. This is
huge. Fuck, we should celebrate.”

“You can’t drink, and I can’t do drugs,” Regulus reminds them drily. “That takes about every
single celebratory thing off of our list.”

“Where’s your creativity? Your innovation? Your passion?”

“Oh, God.”

Sirius laughs again, and it’s surprisingly infectious. Before he can stop himself, Regulus is
laughing, too. It’s loud enough a nearby woman walking her dog startles, her eyes round with
surprise.

“I’m coming over this week, remember? We’ll celebrate then.”

“With dresses! And pizza!”

Regulus snorts a laugh. “Do you like Legos?”

“Never done ‘em.”

“Ever?”

“Nope.”

“And you say you’re my bother. I’ll bring some with me. Nothing too complicated.” Regulus
turns the corner onto his street. He feels lighter than he has in weeks. “Seeing as neither of us
can have any fun with substances, we’ll have to make do with Legos.”

It’s Sirius’ turn to snort a laugh. “Can you imagine telling our younger selves that in twenty
years or so, we’ll be doing a fashion runway with pizza and Legos to boot? I think they
would laugh in our faces. Walburga and Orion would never allow it.”
“No, they wouldn’t.” Regulus grins, fiddling with his keys to unlock his front door. “But
that’s part of why it’s so fun, don’t you think?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I just got home, but I’ll text you later, okay? I need to call Barty, and then I need to deal with
Noah.”

Sirius is silent for a beat too long before they ask, “Oh?”

“I’m gonna end it.”

“Are you…?”

“No. I’m still processing. The ship isn’t finished.”

“I’m going to pretend like I know what the hell that means and simply say, ‘Okie dokie.’”

Regulus shuts his door and toes off his Docs in the entryway. “Wonderful. It’ll make sense
later. But the ship isn’t finished, so no. Wait until the ship is finished.”

“Whatever you say, Reggie. I’ll talk to you later. I’m proud of you. And I love you.”

The entryway is so silent he could hear a pin drop. Why can everyone else in the world say it
so easily? Why is it only him who struggles to say three simple words?

“Reggie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Got distracted. I’ll talk to you later. Thank you.”

One syllable off, but the splinters are back in his throat and he’s having trouble swallowing.
He ends the call before Sirius can say anything else. Or before he can sputter, make a fool of
himself. Say something stupid. Not that it matters; this is Sirius. This is his brother, for fuck’s
sake. Someone he should be able to say anything and everything to.

But vulnerability has never been Regulus’ strength.

He calls Barty and puts him on speaker while changing into comfier clothes. Silk camisole
shorts; an oversized, thin jumper; and fluffy socks—the best things to wear when he plans to
lose himself in a Lego project. His call with Barty is quick and lighthearted. His best friend is
as proud of him as his brother, and promises to do the heavy lifting of letting their friends
know so Regulus can spend the evening with his Legos.

“You deserve a break,” Barty says. “You’re doing great, Reg. We’re all proud of you.”

For the second or third time today, Regulus worries he’ll cry. But he doesn’t, and Barty ends
the call with a quick, “Gotta go, but we’ll talk later. Love you.”

It stings, but Regulus tries not to think about it.

He’s sat on the kitchen island, waiting for the kettle so he can make tea, when he calls Noah.
This is a less fun conversation to have, but it’s also a necessary one. He hasn’t spoken to
Noah in days. Not since Remus’ birthday party, and even before that, Regulus hardly gave
Noah the time of day.

“Yeah, I kind of expected this,” Noah says flatly when Regulus tells him they can’t see each
other anymore. “You’ve been a little distant.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Noah is quiet enough that Regulus can hear the whir of a coffee machine, the low
hum of distant conversation. “Can I ask one question? Just… It’s morbid curiosity, really.”

Regulus toys with the string on his shorts. A stone lodges in his throat. “You can, yeah. Can’t
guarantee you’ll like the answer.”

“I probably won’t, but I need to know. There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“We weren’t exclusive.”

“I know. But like I said, it’s morbid curiosity.”

Regulus looses a long, heavy sigh. “Yeah, there’s someone else.”

“Right. Okay. Did you meet him before or after or…?”

“I don’t really think it’s your business,” Regulus mutters, glaring out the window over his
kitchen sink. “But since you want to be so bloody nosy about it, I’ll tell you. I met him before
you. And I was trying to get over him, but you don’t get over a man like him. So when I say,
‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ what I really mean is, ‘It’s not you, it’s him.’ Because he’s in my head
all of the time. And I mean all of the time. I don’t think that’s fair to you or anyone else.
Does that make it clearer?”

“Crystal.”

“Brilliant.” Regulus hops off the counter to grab a chipped mug from where they all hang on
hooks underneath his cabinets. “I’m not trying to be a dick. But you also misgendered my
brother several times, which sucks because I’m trying to figure out gender, too.”

Noah is dead silent.

“If you’re going to get a PhD in queer theory, perhaps you should work on that. Hm?”

“Er, thanks. I guess. I really didn’t… I didn’t mean to. I just—It was on accident, and—”

“I wish you well,” Regulus interrupts abruptly, no longer interested in prolonging the
inevitable. He already feels lighter knowing that Noah isn’t a part of his life anymore. What
was he even thinking? Sure, Noah wasn’t all bad. He was even a bit nice for a while there.

But Regulus hasn’t wanted ‘nice’ for a long, long, long time.
Once his tea is ready, he cradles the warm mug in his hands and shuffles into his living room.
James’ playlist comes through the speakers at a low volume just as it has every night this last
week he’s worked on the ship. It’ll probably take up his entire coffee table when he’s finished
with it. It really is a monstrosity.

But it’s also become Regulus’ comfort build. He sits in a variety of positions as he pieces the
ship back together—straddle splits, cross-legged, one leg stretched out with another bent to
draw his foot in close. The playlist repeats several times. He finishes his tea and makes
another, then another after that.

The sun drops beneath the horizon. The moon takes her place. Regulus makes another cup of
tea and flicks on a light switch so he can see. The playlist repeats, then repeats again. He
thinks of very little except the memories imbued in every piece he connects to another, and
another, and another…

Before midnight rolls around, Regulus finishes the first third of the Titanic.

“Good riddance and goodbye, Neil,” Sirius singsongs, rolling a butterscotch-flavored lolly
around behind their teeth. They lie on their stomach in their bed, feet in the air and chin
propped on their fist. Their smile is wicked and very pleased when Regulus huffs at the
misnaming.

“Noah,” they correct halfheartedly. “You hated him, didn’t you?”

“I had less than lukewarm feelings about him.”

Regulus snorts. They pause sifting through Sirius’ closet to glance back over their shoulder
with an arched brow.

“Okay, yes. I hated him. But only a teeny tiny bit!”

“Called it.”

“Can you really blame me?” Sirius retorts haughtily. “He was the definition of a wanker. And
he was French. You know how I feel about the French.”

Regulus rolls their eyes so hard their entire head follows. “You are French.”

“Oui, et contre mon gré.”

“No need to be so dramatic about it.”

Sirius grins crookedly, then nods to the dress on a hanger near Regulus’ left hand. “Try that
one. The neckline is a good shape for your chest.”
“I just feel like they won’t look right, though.” Regulus sighs and holds the dress slightly
away from their body. It’s a soft green, a bit like sea glass, with off-shoulder straps. The
bottom is loose and flowy; when they hold it up in front of the floor length mirror, the hem
reaches to mid-thigh. It’s beautiful, but they frown. “Maybe I shouldn’t… What if it looks
weird? I don’t have…”

“Tits?” offers Sirius, pulling the lolly from their mouth. “Who said you have to have tits to
wear a dress, Reggie? The Prime Minister? King Henry the Eighth? God?”

Feeling somewhat reprimanded, Regulus shakes their head slowly. “No.”

Sirius waves their lolly in the air like it’s a magic wand. “Then no one’s telling you that you
can’t wear a dress. It might not fit right because it’s my size, but we’re close enough.”

“I’m scared I’ll feel weird wearing it.”

It’s a vulnerable admission, but here in Sirius’ bedroom, with the sun setting and music
playing on a Bluetooth speaker on the dresser, Regulus is more comfortable than they
expected they would be. They showed up a little after five in the evening to find Remus
already on his way out.

“See ya later, Reg,” he said, reaching out to ruffle Regulus’ curls with his obnoxiously large
hand.

Moose, Regulus thought irritably, attempting to duck Remus’ hand but failing. “Bye,
Remus.”

“Don’t let Pads burn the house down, yeah?”

“What about me?”

Remus paused halfway to his Jeep. He didn’t turn around when he said, slightly pained, “You
know what? I don’t want to know. Have fun.”

It’s been a few hours since Remus left, and they haven’t burned the house down—yet. The
first little while was spent working on the Lego set Regulus brought over. It’s a bookshop,
only 2,504 pieces, and Sirius grinned broadly when Regulus set the box on the living room
coffee table.

“You can keep it when we’re finished,” they said a bit shyly. “For you and Remus. It’s
retired, so a tad hard to find unless you look online. I never really had the motivation to do it,
but…”

They finished it within a few hours. Netflix played in the background, almost entirely
forgotten in favor of their occasional bickering when Regulus said, No, not like that, and
Sirius argued, That’s literally what the booklet says! There were hiccups, a few mishaps, but
eventually Regulus helped Sirius carry the finished Lego bookshop into Remus’ office near
the stairs. They cleared space for it on a shelf in one of the bookcases.
“Remus is gonna love it,” Sirius said fondly, fiddling with some of the movable pieces. Then
they threw an arm around Regulus’ shoulders, pulled them in close, and dropped a kiss on the
crown of their head.

Regulus’ chest tightened, ribs threatening to crack under the weight. Three stones lodged in
their throat, each one larger than the last until they barely managed a proper swallow. They
could only hope Sirius understood the significance of the Lego set. Of what it meant for
Regulus to sit and put pieces together with their brother, to laugh and bicker and knock
shoulders while they debated the plot of a show neither of them were really invested in.

This is how it was always supposed to be. It means more to Regulus than they can put into
words that this is how it will be for the rest of their life.

So it isn’t difficult for them to admit to Sirius that they’re scared of the dress, of what it might
mean, all while standing in their brother’s bedroom, holding the garment like it might grow
teeth and eat them whole. Because it will. A skirt is one thing. It’s half a dress. One piece of a
whole part.

But the whole dress? That’s a different story.

“You don’t have to try it on,” Sirius says gently, popping the lolly back in their mouth. “And
no one is forcing you to dress a certain way. It should be something you choose. Women
don’t have to wear dresses to be considered women. Neither should you.”

Regulus frowns. “But I like the skirt. Why wouldn’t I like the dress?”

“I’m not sure if you’re asking me or yourself that question.”

“I think I’m just confused.”

“Gender!” Sirius sings, flopping on their back with a brilliant smile. “Everyone’s confused,
Reggie. You might as well be confused and feel good about yourself. You feel good in the
skirt, right? Like it’s something that suits you even though you don’t really understand why?”

“Yeah, I do.” Regulus inhales a deep, steadying breath into their lungs. “Okay. One sec. I’m
gonna try it on.”

Sirius slaps a hand over their eyes. “I won’t look until you tell me to.”

For a brief moment, Regulus remains frozen where they stand. Hasn’t the point always been
to get rid of the boxes? To slip and slide on a scale of their own choosing? So far they’ve
only wavered between he and they, though they aren’t entirely sure how to define what this
difference really is to them.

Mostly, it’s a feeling.

Some days they flinch at sentences like, Oh, Regulus? He’s over there. It makes them want to
scratch off their skin, peel it all back and away, away, away. Don’t perceive me, and don’t box
me in, they think; even their bones feel incorrectly placed. I’m not a boy.
But they’re not not a boy, either. They’re just…more. Sometimes.

Because some days, they think, Don’t take who I am away from me. I’m still Regulus—a
brother, and a son, and a boy. But that isn’t all they are. It isn’t all they want to be.

Sometimes, they’re more.

Does he know the difference, Princess? Between when to tell you ‘good boy’ and ‘good girl’?

Oh, the words are wicked in their head. They’ve bounced around for days, incessant and so
goddamn loud. It was James who clocked it even before Regulus did. Not only with Princess,
said offhandedly in Milan, but many weeks later when Regulus crawled into his lap while he
sat in his office chair.

He circled an arm around Regulus’ middle, pulling them impossibly close, and fiddled with
the hem of a new skirt. Then his hand slipped higher and higher still until he could curl his
fingers around the delicate lace of a lavender-colored G-string and tug it down.

Regulus whimpered, already burning from their core straight to the tips of their fingers and
toes, and James breathed a soft laugh over their ear. They shuddered, clinging to James’
shoulders.

“You know, love,” James whispered, his lips pressed to Regulus’ ear, “you really are my
favorite girl.”

Regulus’ breath caught. They twisted their fingers in the soft cotton of James’ shirt. Their
head spun, but James’ gentle touch grounded them.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” It wasn’t teasing, but curious. Tentative. Like even James hadn’t
meant to say what he said but realized the effect landed like a nuclear bomb anyway. “Baby,”
he murmured gently after Regulus’ silence stretched on. “You okay?”

“Fine. Yeah. Good. Just… Oh, y’know? I’m processing.”

“I didn’t mean to throw you into a crisis.”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, yeah, a bit of a crisis, but… It’s a good crisis. Sort of? It felt good.
Nice. No one’s ever said that before, but…” Regulus couldn’t explain it to James then, and
they aren’t sure they can explain it now. It was the affirmation more than anything else. That
James could slip up so easily because of something Regulus did or said or wore or was. The
specifics? They have no idea. Not even James could pinpoint why ‘girl’ felt right where ‘boy’
didn’t.

“It’s just something about you,” he said, brushing curls away from Regulus’ face. “And if
you like it and want me to use it again, then maybe that’s all that matters for now. You don’t
have to think too hard about it yet. Let it be what you feel.”

Regulus knows now why James never stumbled. He had ten years of experience watching
Sirius struggle with their own ups and downs, with questions like what the fuck am I and
what does this mean? But it meant the world to Regulus to have someone see them. To know
and understand, even if he couldn’t put it into words any more than Regulus could.

Let it be what you feel.

Quietly, Regulus tugs their shirt over their head and then shimmies out of their joggers. Sirius
still waits patiently with a hand over their eyes, chewing slowly on the butterscotch lolly
while Regulus pulls the dress on.

It’s incredibly soft against their skin. The bottom is flowy like the skirts they prefer; the hem
falls past mid-thigh, though they think that might be because it’s in Sirius’ size and not theirs.
It’s baggier around the middle instead of clinging to the soft curve of their waist, but they pull
at the back to adhere the fabric to their shape. Sirius was right; the off-shoulder top does suit
their chest, accentuating the lines of their collarbone in a way shirts and jumpers never do.

But what usually feels severe, almost bony, is soft. Delicate, even. They run their fingertips
over their exposed collarbone, tilting their head this way and that. Has it always looked this
way even when they wear lingerie? Or is this wholly new?

“You can look,” they say, analyzing their reflection right down to the wiggle of their toes in
the carpet.

Sirius drops their hand and meets Regulus’ gaze in the mirror. “How do you feel? It looks
great. That’s a good color for you.”

“I feel delicate,” Regulus admits, unsure of what other words they have in their repertoire to
describe exactly what it is that swirls in their gut. They extend their leg out, toes sharply
pointed. It’s a ballet movement, a tendu. They pull their leg back, then repeat the movement
with the other. They watch the dress’ hem flutter, flattering their figure as it flows around the
lines of their thighs.

I wanted to call you pretty and handsome and beautiful all at the same fucking time.

Oh, Regulus misses him. Misses him something fierce in these moments when they know
James would stand just behind them, a support but not a crutch. Someone who knows and
understands the very things Regulus can’t put into words—because James sees it. Sees them.

It’s different than Sirius, who understands because it’s a shared experience. But Sirius has
their own understanding of who they are. They understand what Regulus feels because to
some degree, Sirius feels it, too.

But James is different. James understands because he’s paying attention, looking for the
minute shifts in Regulus that tell him so much of what he needs to know. Because James is
always looking. Has been looking from the start.

Sirius sits up, pulling their legs under them with a frown creasing their brow. “Are you
alright?”
“I’m fine. Just a lot. My brain is bouncing all over the place. I think I’m… Yeah, I’m gonna
take it off.” Regulus pulls the dress over their head, careful to put it back on its hanger
without wrinkling the delicate fabric. The problem isn’t the dress. Not even a little bit.
Regulus wants to wear it. Wants to keep trying them on and figuring out what necklines and
colors and styles suit them best.

The problem is Sirius isn’t exactly the person they want to do this with. It’s not the same. Not
when they know what it feels like to explore these parts of themself with someone who
understands all of their pieces—including the ones they will never let Sirius see.

“What’s your tattoo of?”

Regulus stills. They’re in a daze, lost in their head and feeling foggy. But Sirius pulls them
back into the room. “The snake?”

“No. The one on your spine.”

Oh.

That one.

“It’s…” Regulus swallows thickly. They finish tugging on their joggers, then reach for their
discarded shirt. “It’s for you,” they finally admit, balling their shirt in their fist. “It’s all of
your favorite planets. Do you remember you used to be obsessed with space when we were
really little?”

Sirius blinks several times. Regulus can only bear to face their reflection in the mirror. “I
remember.”

“I got it after Barty and Evan helped me get out of the mess I was in. I wanted our
constellations, but I couldn’t do it. It felt too… So I got your favorite planets and the sun
because you always liked it. Then a few stars for us.” Regulus exhales shakily. “I don’t really
know why. I was so angry with you. I blamed you for everything. But maybe the tattoo was a
subconscious thing. I think I just missed you. I was going through a lot.”

Wordlessly, Sirius slides off the bed and gets to their feet. They tug their shirt overhead,
holding it loosely in their fist. Their entire upper body is covered in tattoos, but before
Regulus can make heads or tails of any of them, Sirius turns around to put their back on
display. Interwoven in a mess of thorny branches that begin with a red spider lily over their
topmost vertebrae are two constellations—Canis Major and Leo.

“I got them a few years after I left,” Sirius says, looking over their shoulder to see their
reflection in the floor length mirror. “I was angry with you too, so I don’t know why I did it
either. The back piece is sort of an ongoing project. It started with the spider lily, and then I
wanted the branches. But then there was empty space… I intended to put something else
there, I think. But I got to the shop and told them two constellations over each shoulder
blade.”
“It’s unfinished,” Regulus remarks. Sirius’ lower back is completely blank. The branches
reach for each other underneath the constellations but don’t meet. “Why haven’t you finished
it?”

Sirius shrugs. “Dunno. I don’t even know what I want to fill the rest in with. But it’s like I
had these two put on my back and couldn’t do anything else. Maybe I was waiting for you.
I’ve been brainstorming some things I might do. I feel like finishing it now. But I did my
arms and hands first. My legs. This is the last bit of space I have unless I do my face, which I
have no plans to do.”

It hits Regulus like a high speed train—the weight of a secret they’ve held onto for much
longer than they should have. Maybe I was waiting for you. It’s a feeling Regulus
understands, though theirs is not an empty expanse of skin for an unfinished back piece.

“We need to talk,” Regulus croaks, heart thundering against their ribs. “It’s—It’s about
Maman and Papa.”

Sirius goes terribly rigid. “What about them? Have they talked to you?”

Instead of answering immediately, Regulus tugs their shirt over their head. Sirius still stands
in front of the floor length mirror, at a complete loss as Regulus begins to pace the length of
their bedroom.

“I wanted to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for years. But obviously that wasn’t going to
happen until now,” Regulus blabbers on, their gaze focused on the carpet under their feet.
“James knows. He’s the only one who does besides me. And maybe I shouldn’t have told
him, but he—he was there, and I trusted him more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. Which is
part of our whole problem, but that’s not… It’s irrelevant to this.”

“Reggie? What the hell are you on about?”

“I was waiting for you,” they say, as if this is an answer that will somehow clear up the
confusion coloring Sirius’ features. “I didn’t tell James that I was waiting for you, but I knew
I was. And I would’ve carried this secret to the grave if we never found our way back to each
other. It’s too big, Sirius. It’s too much for me to do on my own.”

Sirius follows them as they pace. “Regulus, you’re scaring me.”

“No, I get that. Totally. I’d scare me right now, too. But it—Sirius, it’ll ruin our whole family.
Maman, Papa, Lucius, Narcissa, Bella, Rodolphus… I think they’re all involved. I can’t
imagine it’s only Maman and Papa.” Regulus comes to a screeching halt. “I think I’ve been
protecting them. Maybe not intentionally, but… I always tried to make excuses for them. I
still do. I hate them, but I love them for some stupid, idiotic reason. They’re our parents. The
only ones we have!”

“Regulus.”

“So maybe I didn’t tell you right away because I know that the second you know the truth,
you’ll want to tear it all down. And I…” Regulus sucks in a sharp breath. “I needed to be
okay with that. Because before, when you weren’t here, it didn’t matter. I didn’t have to
decide if that’s what I wanted. But they ruined so much. They took ten years from us!”

Sirius looks increasingly more alarmed the longer Regulus continues on ranting.

“I mean, for fuck’s sake. You’re my big brother and I didn’t even get the chance to be at your
wedding! You weren’t there when I graduated. I wasn’t there when you graduated. We’ve
missed so much of each other’s lives because they figured out how to get between us and I
hate them for it. More than I love or want to protect them. You are my family, not them.”

“Reggie…”

“You regretted leaving without saying ‘I love you’ because you thought you would get the
chance to say it, but I—” Regulus stops pacing. They only have a handful of seconds before
they start to cry, but here it is. Three words and a weight no one else can lift but them. “I
never said it at all. Because I never say anything. You left, Sirius, and for ten years you had
no idea that I love you. That I loved you the whole time. You’re my brother. The only one I
have. Even when I hated you, I missed you and I loved you and I—”

Regulus lets out a soft oomph when Sirius’ arms come around them. It’s practically a tackle,
but neither of them stumble. Regulus remains rooted to the floor, blinking up at the ceiling in
a desperate attempt to hold off the tears that threaten to fall regardless of their efforts.

“I have no fucking idea what you’re on about,” Sirius says, laughing softly, “but I love you,
too. Even when I wanted to scream at you and call you all sorts of nasty names, I loved you. I
think that’s what it means to be siblings. We’ll always have each other. Even when we
didn’t…” Sirius taps the divot of Regulus’ spine right over where the planets, sun, and stars
sit permanently inked into their skin. “Even when we didn’t, we did.”

“It’s financial fraud,” Regulus whispers suddenly into the wildness of Sirius’ hair. And like a
dam finally giving way, all of Regulus’ words come out in a frantic rush. “Embezzlement,
mostly, but they have offshore accounts. They’re moving so much money around. Millions.
Probably more since then…”

Sirius pulls back suddenly. “Sorry, come again?”

“Maman and Papa. The entire empire is funded on a lie.”

The silence is incredibly loud as Sirius’ eyes flick back and forth between Regulus’. They’re
wide, a brilliant and crystalline blue—and clearly shocked. In Sirius’ defense, Regulus has
just dropped a rather large bomb in the middle of their otherwise calm evening.

Sirius looses an unsteady breath. “And you’re saying you’ve been sitting on this since you
were eighteen.”

“Seventeen,” Regulus corrects weakly. “I turned eighteen a few weeks later, then I ran.”

“And James knows.”

Regulus nods even though Sirius’ words don’t carry the tone of a question.
“Reggie, this will put them in prison. It will ruin them.”

“I know.”

“And you’re… Are you really okay with that?”

Regulus swallows, reaching up to wipe tears from their cheeks with the back of their hand.
“They separated us. They knew where you were, but they lied to me. For years. I’m sure it
was a running joke for them. But we found our way back, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“I don’t want them to get away with it. We can’t get those ten years back, and nothing will
ever truly make up for that time, but I…” Regulus straightens their shoulders and lifts their
chin to meet Sirius’ gaze. “I want them to pay for it. And the only thing that will work is
tearing it all down. It’s the only thing we can do.”

Sirius blinks several times, their expression unreadable until a slow, brilliant grin spreads
across their face. Their eyes crinkle at the corners, all mischief and wild, unbridled glee.
“You’re a fucking mastermind, you know that?”

“No, I’m not. Don’t be dramatic. Oh, okay. So many hugs. God, you’re a sap.” Regulus
blinks up at the ceiling again, all of their insides squeezed together by the tightness of Sirius’
embrace. But they’re smiling as broadly as their brother, on the brink of a laugh as maniacal
as Sirius’ has become.

“I love you, Reggie. I love you and your ridiculously vengeful mind.”

“I can’t breathe, Sirius.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Regulus wriggles, but Sirius won’t let them go. “Okay, okay. I love you, too. Now please let
me go so I can breathe, you fucking weirdo. Why are you laughing like that?”

Finally, Sirius releases them. Regulus stumbles back, pointing a warning finger as they shake
themself off. Sirius is deceptively strong for someone who’s made of nothing more than long,
lean muscles.

“I’m laughing like this because it’s what our parents least expect. It’s probably their worst
nightmare.”

“It’s definitely Maman’s.”

Sirius’ grin grows impossibly wider. They sit on the carpet with a dramatic huff, then tug
Regulus down to sit cross-legged across from them. “Tell me everything,” Sirius says.

And Regulus does.

Regulus leaves Sirius and Remus’ house a little after ten the next morning. They feel lighter.
Can breathe easier. It’s a wondrous thing, and they roll their windows down on the motorway
as they turn the volume up on the Porsche’s stereo.

There’s no plan yet. Sirius wants to talk to Remus, who will inevitably want to talk to James.
If they choose to go through with this, it’ll mean involving authorities, and if authorities are
involved, Sirius wants the best barristers money can buy.

I don’t want them to win this the way they did last time, Sirius said firmly. And James will
want to help make sure they don’t. Trust me.

It’s terrifying; some part of Regulus that is still desperate to protect their parents feels awful.
But when they left this morning, hugging Sirius on the drive, they said, “I’ll call you later.
Let me know when you’ve talked to Remus.”

“Okay, I will. Drive safe. Love you, Reggie.”

And Regulus smiled, warm and light and happy, and said, “Love you too, Sirius.”

Ten years is a long time that they will never have back. But maybe this is a step towards
gaining something that feels a whole lot like freedom. No more looking over their shoulders,
waiting for their parents to step out of the wings and remind them who directs the show.

It might get ugly, Sirius had warned last night after Regulus finished telling them everything.
Walburga and Orion don’t play nice.

Regulus had merely shrugged. Neither will we, and they’ll have no one to blame but
themselves for raising us this way.

This only made Sirius cackle, that mischievous sparkle in their eyes.

It’s almost eleven when Regulus pulls onto their street. They’re skipping uni today. Besides,
even if they wanted to make it to lectures, they wouldn’t manage it in time. No, they’ll spend
the rest of their day in pajamas at home, nursing mug after mug of tea and working on—

Regulus comes to a stop at the end of the walkway leading to their front door.

They stare at their front porch, unsure if what they’re seeing is real or a trick of the light.
They cross the distance slowly, their footsteps heavy on the pavement. From far away, they
looked like real flowers, like a haphazard bouquet of all colors and varieties. But up close,
it’s plain as day what they are.

Legos.

There are so many Regulus can hardly count them. It’s a mess of wildflowers in blue and
orange and pink and purple. There are red roses. Cherry blossoms. Pink and white lotuses.
Sunflowers. Daises and asters and daffodils.
Regulus recognizes the different sets they’ve seen in the store, all placed into a haphazard
mess of a bouquet that sits in a gorgeous vase the color of green sea glass. It’s a florist’s
worst nightmare—there’s not an ounce of organization to it—and it’s the most beautiful thing
Regulus has ever seen.

Nestled amidst the flowers is a card.

They don’t need to see the messy, looping scrawl on the back to know who this is from. But
Regulus still crouches in front of the bouquet, sets their keys on the front stoop, and reaches
for the small envelope. Their heart slams against their ribs, desperate to break free and run all
the way to Knightsbridge where the other half of it still lives.

Inside of the tiny envelope is a card. A single piece of familiar stationery. Their vision blurs,
and they wipe at their eyes with the back of their hand to read the words.

Regulus,

I’m sorry. I know this isn’t and will never be enough, and I know it won’t help you forgive me,
but please know that if I could, I would do it all differently. I will never, ever regret you, but I
regret that I didn’t tell the truth every single time I had the chance.

You didn’t deserve how I lied, and I know I will never deserve you.

I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this. Unfortunately, I’m not as quick at these as you
are. I also kept buying more because it never felt like enough. I’m really sorry if it’s ugly. I
don’t think any of the colors match. But it needed to feel like it was worthy of you. Honestly, it
still doesn’t. But I don’t have any more time.

I wanted to give this bouquet to you and apologize properly, but there’s also a part of me
that’s thankful you aren’t home to answer the door. I don’t think I can take seeing the hurt on
your face again. Not when I know I caused it but can’t take it away. I’m sorry about Remus’
party. That was on me. I shouldn’t have come up to find you, but I also shouldn’t have left you
there all alone. My brain doesn’t work very well when I’m around you. So maybe it’s better I
have to write this instead of say it.

By the way, your neighbor definitely thinks I’m a stalker. He’s staring at me as I write this on
your front step.

Anyway, I leave for Puerto Vallarta tomorrow, so I wanted you to have these before I go. I’m
going to leave them for you with this note. It’ll be closure for us both. I don’t have plans to
come back for a long time, so you don’t have to worry about running into me somewhere in
London or when you see Sirius & Remus. They don’t know I’m leaving, so don’t be mad they
didn’t tell you.

Getting over you when I see you in all of my favorite places, when I can still smell you in my
sheets… It’s not easy. It’s also not happening. I am still very much in love with you, which is
why I think I need to be the one to create distance. I don’t trust myself not to do something
immensely stupid if I stay in London.

I’m so glad you and Sirius found your way back to one another. It’s all I ever wanted for you
both.

Do whatever you want with the bouquet. I know it’s ridiculous. But the point was the apology,
and the time it took me to make sure it felt right. You can throw the whole thing out if you
want. It’s your choice.

Take care of yourself, Princess Regulus.

Yours Love Always yours,

James

Regulus has barely processed the letter before they’re on their feet and running across the
narrow expanse of green between their flat and their neighbor’s. They bang on the front door,
frantic, until Mr. Bailey finally opens the damn thing.

“What the bloody hell are you—”

“The bouquet,” Regulus wheezes, barely breathing. “Did you see—The person who left it,
was it this morning or last night?”

Mr. Bailey is clearly furious about the disruption, but Regulus is too panicked to care.

“This morning or last night, Mr. Bailey,” they say, waving the card in their neighbor’s face. “I
need to know. It’s urgent!”

I leave for Puerto Vallarta tomorrow.

Tomorrow could be today. James could already be gone. Regulus might be too late.

Because Regulus is always late. Waiting too long. Thinking things over until they’ve run out
of time to say what needs to be said.

“It was last night,” Mr. Bailey finally says, glowering. “Why does it—Oi!”

Regulus bolts off the pavement and across the grass. They ignore Mr. Bailey’s furious
protests, scoop up their keys and the vase with its ridiculous Lego bouquet, and run for their
car. There are tears on their cheeks, but they don’t wipe them away. They don’t think to call
Sirius, or Remus, or anyone. Their panic is a living thing taking up too much space.

I leave for Puerto Vallarta tomorrow.

Tomorrow is today.
 Regulus rips open the driver’s side door, slides in with the vase and its array of plastic
flowers, hits the push to start with too much gusto, and hopes they aren’t too late. They set
the bouquet in the passenger seat, hands shaking when they place them on the wheel.

For the first time in a month, Regulus finds themself finally going home.

Chapter End Notes

for those who guessed the bouquet — you're correct! but James also went VERY
overboard. like just imagine every single botanical Lego set times 10, and then maybe
add a few more for good measure. he finished the first bit and said, "Wait, no, this isn't
enough," and bought more. and then some more. and then more after that. and he bought
ALL OF THEM, plus the extras. who puts sunflowers and roses and cherry blossoms in
the same bouquet? James Potter, apparently.

right, so — Sirius was always going to be Regulus' first 'i love you.' from the second i
wrote Regulus lying about being an only child in Ch 2, i was like yep, yeah, the brothers
are gonna angst HARD in this. this 'i love you' is the one that comes the easiest and is
the most natural — i mean, siblings — but it's also one that took Regulus 23 years to say
out loud. Sirius doesn't make a huge deal out of it (mostly because they're still really
trying to give Regulus a modicum of space to breathe), but it is monumental for them
both that this is a thing they can both say and mean now.

also, Regulus telling Sirius about the family's embezzlement and financial fraud was
also always going to be something Regulus did without James involved. the only reason
Regulus held onto it for so long was because they were waiting for Sirius — and now
Sirius is here. but the subconscious desire to protect your abusers is very, very real, and
Regulus needed to reach a point where vulnerability and trusting Sirius felt right. which,
yeah, building a Lego set with your brother and then trying on dresses to try and figure
out gender is about as vulnerable as it's gonna get for these two. so it was time. and now
the brothers get to play Wreck It, Ralph with their parents' entire financial empire.
woohoo!

speaking of gender and the dresses — i want to wrap Regulus up in a burrito blanket and
protect them from the world so, so bad. but i'm also SO PROUD OF THEMMMM i
really, really am. this moment is monumental because it's the first time Regulus truly
understands the distinction between the affirmation Sirius gives them versus the
affirmation James gives them. it's Sirius saying that a thousand words from strangers
don't mean nearly as much as Remus saying, "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

because Sirius and Regulus have a shared experience. so Sirius gets it because they have
also struggled to find their footing in their own queerness. genderfluidity is NOT a one
size fits all go around. it's complicated, and each person feels it differently. so while
Sirius GETS it, they don't exactly understand what it looks like for Regulus. Sirius will
always be looking through their own lens, because they have their own experience to
bring to the table. so yes, Sirius gets it — but Sirius doesn't know.

and a refrain throughout this chapter is Regulus' desire to be known, and how important
this is to them. and the only person who knows them is James, because James has seen
sides of them NO ONE else will get the chance to see. not even Sirius. you're vulnerable
with a partner and the person you choose to love in a way that is wholly unique from
how you're vulnerable with a sibling, or with friends. James has seen pieces of Regulus
no one else has. it's what made Paris so painful, but it's also the thing that makes James
so special to Regulus.

because Sirius says, "i want to be here for you and i want to support you, but i have my
own understanding of what this means to me," whereas James says, "i want to be here
for you and i want to support you, but i also want to understand you so i can make you
feel affirmed in who you are and want to be." these are both important — but they aren't
the same thing.

and when Regulus tried on the skirt for the first time, it was in front of James. it was
James who read them and analyzed the situation and understood what Regulus needed.
not because he has his own experience to fall back on, but because he wants to
understand and be what Regulus needs. Sirius will always be supportive, but they won't
fully know how to tailor their support to be what Regulus really needs to feel
comfortable in their skin.

good god this is long winded i promise i'm stopping soon even though i didn't cover
nearly as much as i would like to (the chip! Minnie giving Reg their first chip!!! feeling
proud of their progress!!)

anyway! as for Noah — YEET. he survived longer than Connor (i think). and not him
asking if there's someone else bby you were up against James Potter you didn't stand a
chance but that's cute you tried ! A+ for effort !!

👀
right, well, Reg is on their way to James' flat. would be a total bummer if he's not still
there, eh?

thank you for all of the love on Ch 21 <3 i was in deep concert depression but did
manage to get this finished this week, so i'm happy! see you in the next one and lots of
love from me to you allllll :)
End Notes

spotify playlists: main | reg's stage | reg's club vibes | bittersuite | milan | paris

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Pre-Paris pictures by Messrsnana

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