Chapter Text
Regulus did not like Thursday’s. There were a lot of things that Regulus did not like, but Thursday’s always seemed to take the cake. He liked to have a specific routine to his day. Wake up, put some music on, make honey and butter on toast, stare at himself in the mirror in dread as he brushed his teeth, then put something on from his carefully curated wardrobe, and make his way to the local coffee store.
From there, he would order a mocha with one single raspberry scone, and walk to his studio to complete another day of working on art that he would inevitably end up hating. This would be fine, if not for the fact that on Thursday’s the barista, Elise, that he had come to love and cherish, was not there. The overworking 40 year old coffee roasting connoisseur took her one full day off a week on Thursday’s, and the young hipster that replaced the morning shift on that one day just so happened to make the most abysmal, soul-crushing, bitter coffee that had ever roamed this earth. Maybe Regulus was exaggerating with that, but it was bad. Very bad.
So, as every Thursday rolled around, he would reluctantly drag himself to the Little Bean coffee shop, and despite mental warnings ringing through his head, he would order his drink and scone. Even though he liked his coffee with an extra dosing of chocolate (because who doesn’t like chocolate, right?), he still desperately needed the caffeine to pull him through the day.
Regulus thought, perhaps foolishly, that months of this cycle would mean this hipster, Dean, would eventually learn how to make a decent cup of coffee without it tasting like it took a trip to hell on the way, but apparently not. To this day, Dean still couldn’t do it. And Regulus, not wanting to give up loyalty to the Little Bean, both due to his long standing customer history and its convenient location between his flat and studio, forced himself to go anyway. And because of this undying loyalty, he suffers through a shit coffee every Thursday, which subsequently ruins his whole entire day, every. single. Thursday.
As well as this, his usual designated art shirts all happened to be confiscated by Barty, who was, in his words, ‘helping give some life to his pathetic wardrobe’, which was just insulting. Regulus wasn’t going to wear any of his nicer shirts, either, because charcoal is a deadly minx that likes to destroy all cleanliness, and he quite appreciates his clothes, thank you very much. Barty had left all but three t-shirts from his ‘appropriate to art in’ drawer, and all of them happened to have been gifted to him by the brunette in question and his little blonde menace, Evan. So there Regulus was, stuck in a Led Zeppelin graphic t-shirt, wishing he could crawl up into a ball and die.
After grumbling about the whole ordeal, which had become something of a weekly ritual itself, Regulus found himself standing in front of the familiar little cafe. With a twinkle, the bell announced his arrival as he pushed through the foggy glass door and crossed the room, joining the short queue behind the counter. It only took a few moments for it to be his turn, and he ordered his usual, giving Dean a deadpan stare that hopefully conveyed his immense dislike, before swiftly moving to the side to get out of the way.
As always, to avoid looking awkward, Regulus glanced around the store, studying the same hanging plants, and the same corner chipped tables that never seemed to change. After a few minutes of purposefully not making eye contact with any of the other people waiting for their orders, his name was called. He strode forward, picking up the coffee in one hand and the scone in his other. He turned, taking a step forward, when suddenly some sort of brick wall smashed the coffee directly into his chest. His poor little scone dropped to the floor, and with a withering look, Regulus made eye-contact with the wall. Or, rather, what he now realised wasn’t in fact a wall, but a perfectly lean body. With perfectly brown arms, and perfectly warm eyes, behind perfectly rimmed glasses. Accompanied by a perfectly tousled, fluffy, messy in all the right ways, head of dark hair. The specimen in question blinked in surprise, before his eyes widened and his hands darted forward to stop Regulus from tipping over.
“Oh my god. Oh, shit!” the man yelped, leaning over to the counter and grabbing a handful of napkins, before blotting them all over Regulus’ shirt. Regulus glanced down, his own eyes widening at the sight of the taller man’s (veiny) hands dabbing the coffee that now stained his shirt.
“Um.” Regulus let out, and the man snapped his gaze back to his face. Regulus pinked slightly at the eye-contact, before mentally shaking himself. No, he did not have time for ridiculously handsome men, he most certainly did not. Regulus stepped back, and masked his face back into the deadpan look that he had perfected after many years of use.
“I am so sorry,” the fluffy-haired man said, a panicked tilt to his voice, “I swear I didn’t see you.” Regulus narrowed his eyes, and took the napkins for himself, his fingers brushing slightly over the other man’s, making the hair on the back of his neck rise, before he started to blot his own shirt. It was a mess. The coffee had stained the white fabric, and Regulus realised with a sigh that this was not coming out. Oh well, at least he didn’t have to wear it anymore.
The man shuffled his feet, seemingly feeling awkward at Regulus’ lack of response. They stood there in silence for a moment, while Regulus attempted to at least dry his shirt, until the stranger spoke up once more.
“I’ll- er- I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. If you, uh, I mean if you’d like.” He went to fish his wallet out of his pocket, but Regulus held up a hand. The man paused, and tilted his head slightly. Like a dog, Regulus mused.
“Leave it,” Regulus said, “It’s fine. I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own dry cleaning.”
The handsome stranger (seriously Regulus, keep it together) frowned, and immediately opened his mouth again to argue that he should pay for it, since he caused the crash, and really, it was sweet of him, but Regulus really didn’t have time for sweet, incident causing, perfectly fit men. So, instead of saying anything, Regulus did the classic Regulus move, and ignored him. He bent down to get his (squished) scone, that had at least partially survived, stepped past the stranger, didn’t look back, and strode right through the conveniently open door.
Arriving at his studio, Regulus flopped down onto the beaten up couch that sat in the corner, dropping his bagged food on the wooden stool beside it. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he snapped a quick photo of his shirt, before shooting it off to Barty. He clicked the phone off and dropped it on his chest, covering his face with his hands and promptly groaning.
He grimaced as he thought about the handsome stranger, and at his own quick dismissal. It wasn’t as if the man wasn’t attractive. Regulus had named him ‘handsome stranger’ in his head for a reason, after all. After his last shitshow of a relationship, he’d sworn off dating altogether. And swearing off that also meant swearing off swooning over pretty guys, which was an increasingly difficult thing to actually achieve. It’s not his fault he thought with his…well, whatever. He slowly peeled his hands off his face and sighed, glancing over at his latest work of progress, and rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood. But he had bills to pay, of course, so he needed to finish this commission soon.
Just before he was about to get started, his phone pinged, and he picked it back up from where he’d haphazardly ditched it. Swiping it open, he read the reply from Barty, and smirked slightly at the brunette’s response.
‘What did you do to him’
‘Him?’ Regulus replied.
‘As the purchaser of said shirt, I reserve all right to characterising him’
‘You’re very odd.’
‘I think the proper word you’re looking for is intriguing. I repeat my question, what did you do’
‘Had a run in with some random guy. He literally walked right into me. Dropped scalding hot coffee all over your precious shirt. I hate people, this is why I don’t go out.’
‘Was he hot’
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘LMAO ur avoiding the question. so he was hot then’
‘I’m going to start work.’
‘I’m gonna harass you about this tonight Reg’
‘I’m locking you out.’
‘Wait no’
‘Maybe if you bring all my shirts back, I won’t ban you from entry.’
‘Fiiiiiiiiine but don’t say I didn’t try’
‘Also Pandora loves me she’d never lock me out’ ‘Also stop using real grammar on ur texts you sound like a grandpa’
Regulus rolled his eyes, exiting the messages app. Right before he turned his phone off altogether, a notification popped up that he’d received a new email. He clicked on it, and realised it wasn’t from any of his common commissioners. It wasn’t even a personal email, but rather a business address. Frowning, he scrolled down.
‘Hello Mr Black,
This is Minerva McGonagall contacting you from The Hogwarts Gallery. I’m enquiring today regarding an upcoming event that our team is hosting.
In the spirit of encouraging budding artists to grow and expand their talents, we are contacting several up and coming successful artists in the community to join us in a competition hosted by our founder, Albus Dumbledoor.’
Regulus’ eyes widened at the news, and scrolled further.
‘You have been chosen as one out of 14 participants. Should you wish to join us, all necessary information is listed below. To confirm participation, please email back to this address within 48 hours. We hope to see your art in our competition!
Information:
14 participants will compete in rounds. Each round will have a theme, and artists will be given three weeks each to produce an art piece centred around the given theme. At the end of three weeks, they will package and send their art to the location you will be disclosed upon accepting our invitation. Our panel of judges, Albus Dumbledore, from The Hogwarts Gallery, Pomona Sprout, from Greenhouse Glaze, Filius Flitwhick from The Raven’s Collection, and myself, also from The Hogwarts Gallery, will judge and vote the best artists that will stay in each stage of the competition. The amount of people in each round will significantly shorten with each theme, and in the end our winner will be picked from the two finalists of round 4.
The competition will span 12 weeks, with 4 separate rounds. 6 people will be removed after round one, 4 after round two, and 2 after round three. Round 4 will be the finalists, and the winner will have the opportunity to host a full wall of The Hogwarts Gallery, one of Britain’s most renowned art galleries, with their art for three months, as well as a fifteen-thousand cash prize, in the hopes it can help to grow said artists customer’s and supplies. The winner will be announced at an end of competition event at The Raven’s Collection, where all participating artworks throughout the entire competition will be hung.
All artists we have asked to participate will remain anonymous through the entirety of the competition. We please ask artists not to share this information with clients, and to keep the information strictly for friends and families. Due to the nature of this event, we think it’s in everyone’s best interest if there is no way of knowing who you are competing against. We believe it gives the best, most unique results, and also gives a chance for some excitement at the mystery! Participating artists will be revealed at the celebration and announcement of the winner at The Raven’s Collection.
This event is highly competitive, and the best of up and coming artists have been chosen, so do your best and put in the effort, and you may come out on top.
We hope to hear from you about your participation. Key dates and information will be revealed after confirmation. Themes, and who stays in the competition will be revealed every 3 weeks.
Kind Regards,
Minerva McGonagall
The Hogwarts Gallery’
Regulus stared down at the email in his hands, reading it twice over, before slowly lowering it and staring at the roof.
“Good god.” He whispered to himself, shaking his head. The Hogwarts Gallery was just about the best place an artist could have their work on this side of the world, and some of the most famous international artists had their roots there. Even the opportunity to hang his art at the end of the competition at The Raven’s Collection would be insanely beneficial to any artist, regardless of how well known they are.
With slightly shaky fingers, Regulus formed an email response, confirming his participation in the competition. As he sent the reply off, he blinked slowly, coming to terms with what was actually happening. Hesitantly, he smiled, and looked towards his fresh canvases, excited at the prospects that were to come.
Later, with anticipation still bubbling beneath his skin, Regulus unlocked the door to his and Pandora (his roommate)’s flat. Shutting the dark door behind him, he crossed over to the kitchen, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Barty and Evan sitting with Pandora at their kitchen table.
Barty grinned sneakily at him, and leaned his head against his hand.
“Can’t lock me out if I’m here first, can you Reg?” he winked, causing Regulus to roll his eyes.
Setting his keys in the bowl on the bench, he made his way over to the table and pulled out a chair.
“Don’t you have your own flat?” Regulus complained, grunting under the arm that Barty threw over his shoulder.
“You love it when we visit!” Barty grinned, and nudged Evan beside him.
Regulus stood up. “I wouldn’t call it visiting if you’re almost always here. And I’m sitting next to Dora now.” He changed sides, now facing Barty and Evan.
Evan laughed, while Barty pouted.
“Rude. What’s so good about her side?” he asked, and Regulus shrugged.
“She doesn’t try to touch me.” Barty mock-frowned, but then cackled when Pandora leaned over and gave Regulus a kiss on the cheek.
Regulus sighed, glancing over at her.
“You’re a traitor. I hope you know that.”
She smiled at him easily, and let out a gentle laugh.
“If I kissed Reg like that, I think he’d stab me with a knife in my dick before I even got the chance to run.” Evan commented, and Barty barked out a laugh.
“Why would you need to kiss me when you’ve got that idiot sitting right next to you?” Regulus responded, and his faux-annoyance faded away when he saw the doting smile Evan and Barty gave each other. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly at the sight.
“Barf.” Regulus remarked, to maintain his stony image, reaching over to grab a chip from Evan’s bowl.
“Oi! That’s not yours.” Barty snapped playfully, dragging the bowl closer to him and his boyfriend. The blonde in question didn’t seem to care, and Regulus shrugged as he popped the chip into his mouth.
He laughed at the murderous look Barty gave him, never one to share (unless it involved Evan), and stole another one.
“You’re in an awfully chipper mood tonight, Reg.” Pandora mused, and Regulus immediately dropped the smile, pretending to be annoyed.
“I bet it’s about this handsome coffee stranger of yours…” Barty trailed off, and Evan and Pandora’s eyes shot up.
“Piss off Barty.” Regulus groaned, and Evan laughed.
“I was wondering why you were parading around in a stained shirt.” The blonde said, and Regulus gave him a deadpan stare.
“That’s incorrect. I don’t parade.” Evan shrugged, snorting to himself.
“Well?” Pandora prompted, “Is your good mood due to this mysterious lover boy?”
Regulus huffed, “No. He squished my scone. He can rot, for all I care,” he paused as Pandora grimaced, and then smirked, “apparently I'm just significant enough in the art world to be contacted by none other than Minerva McGonagall.”, he said, watching their eyes widen.
Even though none of them were artists, they knew how huge that was.
“No way!” Evan grinned, “Reg!”
Regulus smiled, pleased, and recounted the email to their awaiting ears, eager to have people to brag to about it.
/
James really wasn’t planning on going back to the coffee shop the next day. The bean one, that is. He was perfectly content with his usual place, when it wasn’t too crowded. He wasn’t even working today, he always had Friday off. So by all means, he could have waited in a queue at his favourite place for as long as he wanted. What he’s trying to rationalise, is that he did not, in fact, make a mental decision to go back to the Little Bean. His legs just happened to take him there. Completely against his will. He’d blame his jogging brain for it. He was not completely in control when he was jogging, tending to zone out, which is how he happened to find himself standing outside the familiar foggy door.
James bit his lip nervously, and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Whatever. It’s not like that random guy was going to be there again, right? It was a chance coincidence last time, and James would be perfectly fine to never see the beautiful stranger again. Completely fine. And besides, why would he want to anyway? He’d made a right fool of himself bumping into him, and the murderous look on the stranger’s face was enough to make any sane person bolt out of there.
But…well…wouldn’t hurt to check. Purely out of curiosity. Hesitantly, James pushed the door open, stepping inside as the warm atmosphere enveloped him. Striding over to the counter, he ordered his drink, and shuffled out of the way, inconspicuously studying the faces of the people waiting for their own orders.
James’ eyes widened a fraction as his gaze rested on the familiar face of that pretty stranger. He took a moment to stare at the pale figure, admiring the black, soft-looking head of hair of the man who was looking down at his phone.
Trying not to be a creep by staring too long, James averted his eyes, and cautiously made his way over, waiting next to the man. He didn’t seem to notice him at first, probably just clocking him as some random guy waiting for his drink. Which- well, wasn’t wrong.
However, after a beat, he glanced up, and his gaze locked onto James, with those piercing silver grey eyes of his. The only reaction he had was a twitch of his eyebrow. James smiled at him, which caused the man to raise said eyebrow in response. A silent moment passed, and James was wondering if he should say hello, or something, but the beautiful stranger seemed to beat him to it.
“You’re staring.” he deadpanned, causing James to flush with embarrassment.
“Oh. Sorry.” he responded, and the silver eyed beauty rolled his eyes, turning back to his phone.
James watched him, and then tapped his fingers against the sides of his thigh.
“You have a different shirt on.” James remarked, before grimacing to himself at the very obvious comment.
The man looked up once more, and seemed to blink in astonishment at James’ stupidity.
“...Yes,” he replied, after a second, “most people do tend to have at least two items of clothing at their disposal.”
James ran a hand through his hair, barely noticing the other man’s eyes snapping up to movement, before quickly looking away.
“Yes, right. Course,” James laughed, breathlessly, “I just meant. Well, sorry about your other one.” The other man studied him for a moment, before slowly shaking his head.
“Oh, well, it’s fine. It was from my idiot best friend, who recently seems to be making a habit of forcing me into new clothes. At least I have an excuse not to wear it now.” he averted his eyes when James grinned.
“Well, I’m glad to be of service then.” He laughed quietly, before continuing, “Although, I'm sure a few washes could salvage it.” The man raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head slightly. James tried not to stare at his pale neck, because that would definitely be weird.
“No, its fate was to be destroyed some day. I’m not going to change what was meant to be.” he replied simply, and this time it was James’ turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Fate?” James teased, “Is that something you believe in, then?” The raven haired man flushed slightly, and James was pleased that the slight pink to his cheeks was because of his words.
Instead of responding, however, the barista called the name ‘Regulus’ out, and the man in question left James’ side to retrieve his drink and pastry.
James hummed to himself quietly, and stepped near Regulus. The man shuffled slightly, clearly having a mental debate on whether he should move or not.
“Regulus?” James mused, watching as Regulus’ eyes snapped up to meet his, “Is that your real name, or something come up with to mess with people?” The deadpan stare from him was back, and he rolled his eyes.
“I seriously lack the time to play tricks on unsuspecting baristas.” He said. James laughed softly.
Regulus stared at him for a few more beats, before swiftly turning around and walking away.
“Bye!” James waved at him, avoiding the slightly bothered looks from other customers at his noise. Regulus did not respond, he simply continued to stride away until he was completely out of sight.
James sighed to himself, eyes fixed on the door Regulus had disappeared out of. What a lovely looking man.
He was shaken out of his stupor by his name being called, and he let a breath out he didn’t realise he had been holding. He grabbed his coffee, took a long sip, and bit his lip.
According to James’ friends, it was law that every Friday was a pub Friday. So later that day, not one to get on the bad sides of his mates (and also because he loved pub Friday just as much as them), he threw on his battered red converse and shuffled out the door. Checking his watch, the time read 6:45, which gave him just enough time to walk to The Three Broomsticks pub to arrive at 7, just like he did every week. The pub was just as bustling as it usually was when he arrived, and if he was anyone else he’d be worried about getting a large enough table for their friends. Lucky for James though, after years of the weekly tradition, Rosmerta, the bartender, knew to reserve the lounge table tucked into the corner. And by reserve, he meant, well, angrily stare at anyone who tried to snatch it.
Everyone, save for James and Sirius, seemed to have sat down already. Sirius, ever the late one, would most likely be a little longer, so instead of waiting by the front, James strode over and slid into the booth, taking his spot next to Peter.
“‘Lo James.” Marlene winked at him at his arrival, and he grinned cheekily back at the blonde.
“Marlene.” he replied, in the same playful tone.
“James.” Lily teased, adding to the bit, causing him to huff out a laugh.
“Lily-” he went to continue, but Dorcas rolled her eyes and cut in.
“Dorcas, Mary, Peter, Remus. Right, now that we’ve revised all of our names, shall I get us a round?”
All of them chorused a yes, so she stood, some of the silver beads in her braided hair twinkling in the dim light as she did so.
Right as she, with the help of Rosmerta, was filling the table with drinks, Sirius made everyone aware of his arrival.
He grinned at them, his shoulder length black hair looking as perfect as it always seemed to. He slid into the seat next to James, and tapped his fingers on the table in a little beat.
“Hello my dears.” he said, some of his accent still vaguely posh, even after all those years of downplaying it.
“Will you ever arrive on time?” Dorcas deadpanned, causing Sirius’ grin to widen, if that was even possible.
“And be awkwardly early instead of fashionably late? It’s not in my nature, love.” He winked at her, and she scoffed, hiding her smile by taking a sip of her beer and sliding one towards Sirius.
He beamed at her. “I always knew you were my favourite.” She rolled her eyes in response, and James let out an indignant squawk.
“Excuse you,” James said, “Best friend sitting right here.” Sirius laughed, and swung an arm over James’ shoulder, pulling him into his side and planting a kiss on his cheek.
James spluttered, “Gross! Why was it wet?” and Sirius smirked.
“I tend to have that effect.” While everyone on the table groaned at their antics, James caught Remus' eye across the booth and raised an eyebrow. Remus flushed slightly, and turned to pointedly stare at his own drink.
“Now,” Sirius began, straightening his back, “I know my fantastic art abilities leave many crawling after my works, but I was pleasantly surprised by an email I got today.” He smiled, smug at the attention everyone was giving him now.
“Right, so picture this- I’m standing at my canvas, pencil beautifully tucked above my ear, looking like a right God-” Marlene cut in, “Alright, get on with it, Black.” Sirius scowled at her as his friends chuckled, “Oi, I’m trying to set the scene here.” he complained, before getting back into it.
“Anyways, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Marlene snorted to herself, “I got invited to this anonymous art competition by, drum roll please, The Hogwarts Gallery!” he beamed, and revelled in the shocked looks from his mates.
James grinned at him, clapping him on the back and giving him a little shake.
“Pads! That’s amazing!” he said, and despite not being an artist himself, he knew all about The Hogwarts Gallery. All of the gang did. This was partially due to its famous nature, and also because Sirius never stopped bloody going on about it.
As the others all congratulated him, and hounded him for details, James glanced over at Remus, who was smiling softly to himself, watching Sirius with apt attention as he enthusiastically word-spewed about the competition. He watched as the almost gold haired brunette traced a finger over one of the scars on the side of his face, a habit he never seemed to realise he did when he was thinking. James smiled at the scene, and bit the inside of his cheek. To the naked eye, Remus was not obvious at all. To James, who’s favourite thing was playing matchmaker to anyone he became friends with, it was clear. He just hoped his mate figured it out soon.
Turning his attention back to Sirius, he tuned in to hear him going on about the whole anonymity of the thing.
“Look, all I’m saying is they should be glad it’s anonymous. Everyone would probably quit if they knew they were going up against me.” He smiled smugly, and Remus laughed out gently.
“Of course Pads,” he smirked, “they probably did all that just so you wouldn’t have an unfair advantage.” He said, poking fun.
“Exactly Moony, thank you!” Sirius pointed at him, “I’m glad someone has some brains at this table.” he joked, and Peter reached over James to flick him.
“Certainly isn’t you, aye?” The short man retorted, leaning back out of the way to avoid Sirius’s playful smack. James let out a snort, joining in on the laughter of the group, and sighed to himself happily. In the distant part of his brain, he thought he might just be even happier if there was a certain black-haired, coffee stained stranger sitting with them.