Archive of Our Own ^beta

☆ Present Day ☆

Thirty felt too old for a blind date. According to Sirius, this was not the case.

If there was one thing everyone seemed to know about James, it was that he loved love (gag). The problem lay in the fact that love did not seem to always love James back.

It's not as if James didn't have opportunities to meet The One, a human being he's been actively seeking out since the first stir of romance in his adolescent pudge-y belly, because he had. James has had lots of opportunities.

James was just rather picky with those that he intimately shared his life with despite this life long desire of his, so the relationships he found himself in never seemed to last longer than a year at most. He was always the one breaking up with his partners, never the one to be broken up with, and it drove his friends absolutely crazy. Something about being the only single friend for the past four years was seemingly beginning to lose its charm.

So, tired of his best friends moping and his own increasingly depressing outlook on the one thing he loved most, Sirius had set James up on a blind date. James had only said yes because Sirius had taken advantage of his chronic heartbreak and the four margarita's he'd consumed like water when he asked, ever so innocently, “How would you feel if I set you up with someone?”

In James' defense, he couldn't be blamed for saying yes to his best friend stepping in to help him with this funk he so often found himself in. Was it truly so awful to agree to an offer from your brother in everything but blood, the one you trusted more than everyone in the world including your own mother? Obviously not.

That being said, if James had been only two or even three margarita's in rather than four, he might've caught the death glare and clenched jaw Remus had sent Sirius' way when the words left his mouth. Maybe he would have taken note of the fact that same look stayed on Remus' face for the rest of the night and bled into the week that followed, not once wavering in those final moments before the date had been scheduled.

When James had asked Sirius if everything was all right with Remus, with them, Sirius had smiled his charming smile and explained work had just been stressful, and to not worry. When James had wiggled his way across the booth at the bar to sit closely to Remus to ask him if he was alright, Remus had said through gritted teeth that it was indeed work stuff. There was no reason for James to question it; Remus was a kindergarten teacher. He often replied through gritted teeth that the reason for his behavior or facial expressions involved 'work stuff'.

Sirius had only given James the bare minimum to go off of; the date would begin at 7:00pm sharp at the Hogwarts Museum of Art, the person he was meeting would be wearing an oversized forest green sweater, that they're quiet in every aspect of their life except for when it came to art, and that James should wear his maroon button down because it brought out his brown eyes.

James had spent each night in bed reading up on the museum, of the popular exhibits and the artists behind the pieces, in hopes that he could avoid the reality of the fact that James wasn't a fan of art museums. Truthfully, he never understand the appeal that art seemed to have on so many, which made him slightly confused as to why Sirius had put this all together, but James was always eager to try things out of his comfort zone.

There was also the minor detail of the elephant in the room as to why James particularly was against art museums, but that was neither here nor there. It didn't matter, so there's no reason as to why it needs to be addressed. No reason at all.

None.

He arrives at the museum ten minutes early because he has a habit of arriving too early to things he's nervous about. His hair is fluffy from the shower he took hours prior, he's cleaned his gold wire glasses with a lens wipe that's now dry and crumpled in the pocket of his khaki pants, and he, of course, is also wearing the maroon button up that Sirius said made his eyes pop. Remus had suggested his black converse, so he wears those, too.

There's a wooden bench that typically belongs in a park next to the stairs that lead to the museum entrance. Sirius had told James his date would meet him there, and James lets out a sigh of relief when he arrives and no one is currently occupying where he now sits. He crosses his legs, uncrosses them and then crosses them the other way — a nervous habit — before pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

Sirius has sent him a good luck text and a reminder to have fun followed by a text that holds a death threat if he doesn't call Sirius and tell him all about it after. James sends him a thumbs up emoji, all he's capable of the more his nerves seem to eat him alive, and he pulls up one of the stupid games he loves to distract himself with. One hand holds the phone and plays the game, while the other hand very strategically covers the top right corner where the time mocks him.

It doesn't entirely stop him from checking because his self control is only so strong, but it at least somewhat cuts back on the frequency. The last time he peaks with squinted eyes and a frightened scrunched nose, being quick like whatever lays beneath his sweaty palms is some kind of secret, the time reads 6:59pm.

Everything changes at 6:59pm.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” the voice of an angel mutters, at 6:59pm, causing James's head to snap up so quickly it throws him off balance despite the fact that he's sitting.

The elephant in the room stands before him.

Upon making eye contact with the person who's just spoken — the elephant, the angel — James feels the wind greedily steal his breath. He springs off of the bench and stands up straight, his posture so alarmingly proper that his back is bound to hurt in less than three minutes, but James doubts he'll even notice.

He's never been very good at focusing on the world around him when it came to Regulus Black.

“Regulus,” James says, out of breath and voice cracking, giving himself away entirely. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh I'm going to kill him,” is how Regulus responds, words not directed at James as he begins to pace and pull out his phone, incoherently muttering under his breath. He seems angry; he looks pretty.

He always looks pretty, of course, but James just always thought he looked extra pretty when he wore-

“Oh my God,” he whispers in disbelief. He looks Regulus up and down while Regulus puts his phone to his ear before yelling in frustration when he goes straight to voicemail. James hears it; Regulus always has his volume up too high on his phone like an old man. It makes James's toes feel tingly.

He can't tell if it feels like he's hallucinating or dreaming, and he doesn't know which one would be the better option. His thoughts are kind of just a jumbled mix of oh my God and it's you and oh my God it's really you it's you it's you it's—

“Oh my God,” he whispers again, self control always thrown out the window in the presence of the other man. Regulus finally, finally looks him in the eye, frozen in place, his text messages open to a conversation with single word responses in blue and lengthy paragraphs in white.

In addition to having his volume always up too high, Regulus also always has his phone settings to make the font really big. James has many theories as to why that is, and he knows for a fact it's not because he can't see what's on the phone. Regulus had always been nearsighted.

Biting his lip, James tries to use his teeth like a gate to hold back his smile, but fails like he always does. “You're wearing an oversized forest green sweater,” James smiles warmly, the width of it growing when he sees the corner of Regulus's mouth twitch, the rosiness on his cheeks spreading. “That son of a Bitch.”

Regulus's face drops to his hands with a groan, but he fails in spreading his fingers out enough to block the smile he's so clearly trying to hide. He shakes his head before removing his hands from his face, throwing his head back to groan yet again. He stays like that for a few seconds, James watching him with a giddiness usually reserved for concerts or people scooping ice cream onto a sugar cone. A heavy sigh is released, James admires his beautiful neck, then silver eyes meet bright brown ones once more.

“Yeah, well, then that would make two of us,” Regulus says, crossing his arms, acknowledging James' poor attempt at a joke. “Sirius told me my date would be wearing a maroon button up and that he hated art, but to not let that deter me. Now that I think of it, I can't believe I didn't realize who this mystery date was with.”

James hums. “He told me that my date would be wearing an oversized forest green jumper and that he was quiet about everything except for art. Sounds rather familiar, now that I think about it.”

Regulus fidgets with the cuff of his sweater, his face growing thoughtful. “It was my one rule, if I were to agree to this.”

“What was?”

“That the date be at an art museum. So it would be easier to not be quiet.”

James frowns. “I like that you're quiet.”

“Always the dramatic one,” Regulus rolls his eyes, dramatically, brushing past James so that he can stomp up the stairs, ears as red as his cheeks and his neck. “Alright. Well. Let's get this thing over with.”

An abrupt dismissal, a quick excuse and goodbye tossed over a slim shoulder, a monologue full of curse words attacking James’ character that was expected does not occur. James feels frozen in place with the shock coursing beneath the hairs on his arms at this realization; it feels like his body is in a fighters stance ready to combat inevitable words of rejection.

But they never come. They never come.

“James?” Regulus says sharply, already halfway up the marble stairs. “You coming or not?”

James shakes his head to snap himself out of it, blinks slowly a few times before getting his act together. He turns around quickly and jogs up the stairs to join Regulus, pathetically mumbling “Coming!” and “I’m coming!” and also “Here I come!” while tripping on the third step and then the seventh, catching himself right before he trips on the one where Regulus still stands, waiting with a scowl.

Regulus squints at him, analyzes him like he does best, and cocks his hip ever so slightly. “Don’t make this a thing.”

“I’m not,” James says with wide, innocent eyes. He’s definitely making this a thing.

Regulus' scowl deepens. “It feels like you’re making this a thing.”

“Mmm,” James looks up to the sky and scratches his chin, “Doesn’t sound like me.”

“James.”

James meets Regulus’s eye when he hears the sternness in his voice. “Hm?”

“Don’t make this a thing. Okay? Think you can do that for me?”

They have a very brief, very mature staring contest and, as is tradition, James breaks first. He breaks so easily and quickly that he almost finds it in himself to be embarrassed, but embarrassment is luckily not something James Potter often feels.

“Okay, okay,” James holds his hands up in surrender, letting out a sigh of defeat. “I’m not making this a thing.”

Regulus gives a firm and quick nod, satisfied and a bit smug with the results, then he stomps up the remaining stairs. The curls at the nape of his neck jostle with the force of his gait.

James allows himself time to briefly watch as Regulus holds his princely head high, his mouth going dry at the way the curls move. The best part of it all is that Regulus is entirely unaware of the fact his seemingly never ending blush easily gives him away, that this is all clearly some sort of act.

The way that he holds himself screams confidence, but the color his skin is capable of turning reveals all his secrets. It gives James the upper hand.

Like a hyper puppy following his master, James follows after the other man once more, light headed with the revelation that he gets to play his favorite game after such a long time without it. His footsteps are light and he only trips once, a stark contrast to the mannerisms of the person in front of him.

Don't make this a “thing”? Please. Of course James is going to make this a thing.

It’s like Regulus is the chocolate factory, this silly blind date is the winning golden ticket, and James is the poor boy who gets lucky and finds it in the storm drain on a polluted road. It’s not like James is about to throw away the chance to finally change everything. And, sure, maybe he’s a little dramatic, but James takes pride in that fact because it’s what inevitably brought him here, what started it all and had him hooked from the very beginning.

What a silly thing for Regulus to ask of James, to expect of him, to not make the situation in which they find themselves anything but what it is. He's willing to be flexible, to let Regulus hide a little bit longer from the truth of what's unfolding, especially if it gives him an excuse to open the front door for his date. He likes playing the role of the gentleman. Maybe, if he's lucky, Regulus will like it, too.

For the first time in fifteen years, the possibility of turning the relationship between them into something other than platonic clings onto their souls as they walk to the front desk. Regulus always gets a map of the museum despite never needing one, and James always likes to see if the person who’s working put out any mints.

With an old ritual — Regulus gets his map and James steals a mint — comes the possibility of a new one, and James is rather desperate to know if Regulus is aware of this in the same way that he is.

If the side glances he keeps sending James’ way mean anything, clearly under the impression he’s being subtle when he most definitely is not, James decides that the answer to his desperation might not be all that hard to find.

-

☆ Fifteen Years Ago ☆

Regulus Black was somewhat of an enigma to James. Unlike Sirius, who went to the local all boys private school with James, Regulus attended an even more prestigious all boys private boarding school. Apparently Sirius had not been offered to go to said school alongside his brother because he wasn’t smart enough to get in, which James thought didn’t make sense because it was just high school, not college. Plus, Sirius was the smartest person James knew, and James knew a lot of people.

Then James had gone over to Sirius’s house for dinner one night and met Sirius’s parents and his perspective on things changed rather drastically. When he had left, based on the way in which Walburga and Orion Black treated his best friend, James understood why he hadn’t been allowed to go to school with his little brother.

They had hated Sirius with an intensity James’ twelve year old self could not quite grasp, because James lived a life where nothing bad ever happened to him.

It wasn't until three years after that horrible dinner that James met Regulus for the first time.

Regulus had just returned from his freshman year at his fancy boarding school, and for the first time in a long time, had been left behind for the weekend by his parents. This, to everyone's horror but one long haired individual who shared DNA with the younger boy, meant Sirius was in charge.

Mr. and Mrs. Black were not all that fond of wasting their precious time finding child care, and all of their family lived in France. Sirius was their only option, and although it went unsaid, it was rather clear what would happen if the parents were to return to anything but perfection.

When James had met Sirius, it took a very long time for him to learn anything about the new kid in class. Over time, because it was James' super power, he was able to get Sirius to be open and honest in a way he had not thought would be achievable. Before James had learned anything about Sirius, however, James always knew one thing.

Sirius Black loved his brother with a certain ferocity that James had known Sirius was not the quiet boy he made himself out to be. No one who loved that much could ever be one of minimal words.

Or so James had thought. But, in regards to Sirius, James was right about that one.

James had agreed to spend the night the Saturday of that weekend for two reasons and a secret; he wanted to see where his best friend lived, he wanted to make sure that the empty house didn't give Sirius nightmares, and he wanted to meet Regulus more then he wanted the air that kept him alive.

Everything James knew about Regulus prior to meeting him came from Sirius. James knew Regulus was quiet but had a lot to say, that he was always the smartest person in the room, that he probably needed glasses to see far away but his parents said they were trashy, that he loved art, and he sometimes represented a chihuahua. “He's small,” Sirius had said, “But could kill a man if given the chance,” then he'd paused, “He's also loyal to those he loves, but could give less of a fuck about strangers. See? Chihuahua,” he smiled, “You'll love him, Prongs.”

James had never met a chihuahua before but he trusted Sirius with his life, so he nodded in agreement, too distracted by the word fuck coming out of his best friends mouth to think more of it. It was the beginning of his “bad boy” phase, and it was hard for James to adjust to this change in character.

It didn't come as a surprise that Sirius lived in an old money mansion with stale air cold enough that it was as if the AC remained on year round. The walls didn't have any art, there weren't any knick knacks on shelves or family photos above fire places. If it had been anyone but Sirius, James would've turned around and left before even one foot could fully step through the doorway. The house felt as if it were haunted.

“Reggie said he'll just draw under the tree,” Sirius was explaining after the house tour, leading James to his room. “Which I guess is fine because it would've been hard to play badminton with three people, but still. Reggie is really good at badminton; he even plays on his schools team.”

James almost scoops the air as Sirius speaks in an attempt to catch this new piece of information he's learned about Regulus, wants to put it in a jar with the rest of the bits he knows, wants to keep it safe and warm. He hummed along to Sirius blabbering, wearily eyeing the closed wooden doors as they walked down a long hall, a crystal chandelier lighting the way and not a speck of dust in sight.

“He doesn't usually get to draw at home, so he's taking advantage of it while he can,” Sirius continued. “He told me he filled a whole sketchbook at school and I cried, James, I was just so happy for him, y'know?” He stopped in front of the door to the left. “Mother and father think art is a waste of time, therefore it's banned from our house so he can't do it here unless he hides it really well. Crazy, right?”

Sirius said it with a smile that translated to him trying to lighten a horrible situation, to protect and deflect like he knew best, just as he always did whenever he mentioned his parents. James always smiled and laughed in return because it always made Sirius loosen his shoulders ever so slightly. If Sirius was working hard to protect everyone, James would always make sure to protect him in return.

Sirius opened the door to his room at the end of the hall, and it was a lot like the rest of the house; cold, empty, and rather eerie. The one thing in the room that was different from the rest of the home was arguably the most important; the boy laying on the four poster bed.

Regulus was resting on his stomach, feet kicking the air as he took a pencil to paper, occasionally glancing out the window before resuming his sketch. His hair was the same as Sirius's, black as tar with sporadic curls, but it barely went past his ears. He was wearing bright yellow shorts and an off-white shirt with blue, orange, and red stripes, big enough that it fell off his shoulder. The sketchbook in front of him was the size of a standard piece of paper, and he was using what looked to be fancy artist pencils. Next to his shoulder was a brown leather pencil case, unzipped and on its side, pencil shavings and an eraser falling onto the crisp white comforter.

“Reggie,” Sirius groaned, walking towards the bed. “Now I'm gonna have to wash the sheets,” he grumbled and grabbed the things that had spilled, shoving them back into the case. “How many times do I have to remind you to close the fucking zipper?”

He's tsking at Regulus with a fondness that reminded James of his mother, but Regulus wasn't paying any attention to his older brother. He was looking at James.

James learned the hard way, without any warning and at a rather rapid pace, that having the attention of one Regulus Black felt like winning American Idol or being asked by the president to take over his position. If having those eyes on him meant no one else would ever look at James again, he would not mourn such a loss if it meant gaining such a win.

He cleared his throat, realizing he was staring like some sort of freak, and took a few slow, awkward steps forward. “Hi,” he waved, “I'm, uh, James.”

Regulus didn't answer him at first, and Sirius had been entirely unaware of the tension that filled the space between them, too busy making a fuss of his perfectly clean comforter. The look that Regulus rests on James's weird pre teen body isn't cruel, but it does feel a lot like the stare of a fox. He was impossible to read, impossible to look away from, and dangerously appealing.

Regulus lets out a sigh like he's bored, like James is already boring him. “Hi Uh James,” he rests his head on his propped fist. “I'm Regulus. Just Regulus.”

It would have been obvious to anyone with a fully formed brain to realize what was unfolding in that room, in that haunted house, on that hot summer day between two strangers brought together by a mutual human they were devoted to. But James was just hitting puberty and Regulus hadn't been anywhere close.

James preened at what he liked to think of as a nickname, felt like a dog getting a treat, and did what he would quickly learn he does best: make a fool of himself in front of the boy in the striped shirt.

“Hi, Just Regulus,” James smiled in response, real dopey, a stirring in his stomach beginning to grow. “Get it? Because you said— you did that thing where— hi. Hello,” James felt his face and neck heating, his smile fading, but he had been raised to never back down which, usually, was a good thing. Maybe not so much right now. “Hi. I'm James b-but you can call me Uh James. For sure. For sure,” James even had Sirius' attention at this point, “Um. So— I like your shirt and it's very nice to meet you Sirius, like, he talks about you a lot, all good things I promise, and he, um, he says you're like a chihuahua except I don't know what they're like I never met one but I think you're more like a cat like one with the shiny black fur and the, like, yellow eyes which is a very lovely type of cat also did you know that cats can legit make, like, almost one hundred sounds because it's true I read—”

“Dear God, James,” Sirius, bewildered, had finally cut him off. “Are you quite alright?”

James had to take a lot of deep breaths because he’d forgotten to breathe once he had really started going for it. He's terribly embarrassed and Sirius is terribly horrified.

But Regulus is smiling at him.

From that moment on it's hard for James to not notice Regulus. The three of them eventually go outside, only after Sirius has given James a cup of water and confirmed his friend was alright. Once James' manic behavior about the new boy had transferred into more of a man high on laughing gas, Sirius seemed to be convinced everything was alright.

Regulus had laid beneath a weeping willow tree while James and Sirius played badminton, and they didn't stop playing until the redness from their cheeks spread to their arms and their hair stuck to their foreheads in thin wet clumps.

Sirius had beaten James by a landslide each game, taunted him and teased him about it the whole time he had been over, but James didn't really care. It's not like he could explain to his best friend that the reason he played so horribly was because he couldn't stop glancing at the boy beneath the tree, that it became impossible to do anything but stare once he met Regulus's eye. Not when he didn't even really understand it himself.

On Monday night, forty eight hours after meeting Regulus, James asked his mother what she thought of love at first sight. It is important to note that the question had arrived after spending the past two days raving to all who would listen about the magical boy he met on Saturday, but that obviously had nothing to do with what he wanted to know.

Obviously.

“Is it real?” he had asked in a small voice, sitting on Euphemia Potter's bed while she put down the book she had reading, because she read every night before she slept. “Or is it something made for fairy tales?”

She hadn't answered at first. James refused to look her in the eye, but he could feel her eyes on him, squinting in that way she does when she's putting a lot of thought into whatever it is James had inquired. He loved that she did this, that she took him seriously and treated him like an adult, especially when he was feeling shy.

“Who says fairytales can't be real?” she responded after a long pause, and James immediately rolled his eyes and stomped away, unhappy with her answer and too embarrassed to hear more. Not only was he a fifteen year old boy, but he also had a habit of having a similar tantrum to the one he had thrown when any part of him knew his mother was right.

James tore a piece of paper out of a journal on his desk when he returned to his room, so dramatic that Sirius would be full of pride if he was there. He grabbed a pencil from a cup where the journal was and sat in his squeaky chair to write something, as he didn't want to risk forgetting with the barrier sleep brought. He had gripped the pencil with white knuckles as he wrote, and pressed down hard enough that the marks wouldn't erase even if he used one of those fancy putty erasers.

WHO SAYS FAIRYTALES CAN'T BE REAL? he wrote with a scowl, then he tossed the pencil on the desk angrily, folded the paper neatly into a tiny and pristine rectangle, and shoved it in the very back of the drawer in his bedside table. He made sure it was covered with the bits and pieces that lived in the shelf like camouflage — sticky notes and paper clips, music boxes and keychains, baby photos and chapstick, envelopes and crumbs — then slammed it shut once he approved of where it rested.

James didn't like not understanding things. He had thought up until this point, or rather, up until Saturday, that he had already felt all the feelings a human could possibly feel. Sure, some things he had felt more than others, but James felt things deeply and was not prepared to be hit in the face with a feeling he cannot place and that he cannot understand. He's always worked hard to not be perceived as naive, but it had felt like maybe he hadn't worked hard enough.

It was as if a seed was planted in his body without his permission, and with each passing day it continued to grow, except he didn't have the pouch the seed came in so he didn't know what was actually growing. Instead of appreciating the life within him, James could only focus on the fact he didn't know what it would become. Was it a tomato plant? A tulip? Watermelon or squash?

How much water would it need? How much sun did it like? Will it grow back once its matured?

Later, when sleep had finally taken him away, James would dream that he was Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk, each scary giant in the clouds a different emotion he was not aware of.

-

☆ Ten Years Ago ☆

“James, I swear to God if those aren't centered,” Regulus threatened as he entered the room, cardboard box full of books in his arms.

It was move in day for Regulus, his first year of college, and James was helping him get settled. His classes wouldn't start for another week, and Regulus had helped him and Sirius move into their apartment a few days ago, so James was more than happy to help. It was only a five hour drive without traffic back to his campus, so really it wasn't a big deal (except it was).

James was sticking glow in the dark stars above Regulus's bed in his dorm.

It had been five years now since Regulus officially came into James' life, and over that span of time, James could say with confidence that Regulus had become his best friend. It turned out that two people could have a close relationship even if they didn't have much in common, and it was entirely possible that it made the relationship that much stronger. It also had turned out that time only increased infatuations, and despite being twenty years old, James Potter still did not know what it all meant.

Sirius hated it at first — their friendship — but James was quick to realize it was because he was worried this new friendship between his best friend and little brother meant he would be left behind. Once it was made clear that wasn't the case, that James and Regulus loved Sirius far too much to let him go even a sliver, the whole thing became rather beautiful.

And, sure, that seed that had been planted in James all those years ago — the one without any identification — continued to grow, continued to be a mystery as to what it would become, but James had gotten used to it with time. He had become okay with the whole waiting thing.

For the most part.

They were just about finished bringing all of Regulus's things into the room, then they'd have to unpack and set everything up. Luckily, Regulus didn't bring much with him, just the basics and his books, his art supplies and the succulent James had gotten him for his eighteenth birthday.

The reason James was currently setting up the stars was because there's only one or two boxes left in his car, and because the moment he discovered Regulus had brought glow in the dark stars, James became incapable of doing anything other then sticking them to the ceiling.

He didn't make a big deal over the fact it's common knowledge that James is very fond of the whole glow in the dark stars thing. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life, not mentioning the coincidence that so clearly lay before him, but he had somehow been able to keep his mouth shut just this once.

There was also the whole thing of Regulus having a roommate, some guy named Evan, who stopped by to say hi about an hour ago. He'd spent his summer on campus working, so he'd set his side of the room up already and was off doing something. He had said what that something was, but James wasn't really listening.

James didn't like Evan.

Sure, he'd been nice enough; bleach blonde hair, tan skin and piercing eyes. He was taller than Regulus but shorter than James — which, yes, James was very happy about — and he was hoping to study forensic science. Evan was from Maine and his family owned a blueberry farm, and when he had introduced himself to Regulus with a handshake, Regulus' cheeks had practically turned bubblegum pink.

James didn't like Evan because Evan seemed to be a bit of a flirt; and yeah, okay, James was often accused of being a flirt himself, but this was different. There was no meaning behind it when James did it, he was just being friendly and cocky because he didn't know how to be anything else. Evan took it a step too far.

He held Regulus's hand for too long when he shook it, let his eyes roam his body far too often, flirted with his easy smiles and tried too hard with his jokes to make Regulus laugh. He even winked at Regulus on his way out, giving James a simple head nod in recognition with a close lipped smile. James was just worried he'd make Regulus uncomfortable, that's all.

Regulus had never been good in social situations or with physical contact, easily made uncomfortable if overwhelmed by either. Evan is very clearly a threat for both of those things, and it was unavoidable that Regulus would have to deal with it since he was his roommate. James knew for a fact Regulus had only ever kissed someone, and he was just worried Evan would assume Regulus was like any other college freshman, eager for intimacy via a casual fuck. If Evan made a move on him, and James wasn't around, what if Regulus felt pressured to do something he didn't want to?

He was aware of the tiny voice in the back of his head that he refused to fully acknowledge that said he might be reading into things too much, but he was only human. James was very protective of those that he loved, and according to Sirius, James had always been “weird” about Regulus, about the levels of protectiveness he would reach for him but no one else.

Maybe Sirius was right, but it didn't matter, because James wasn't doing any harm by keeping Regulus safe. And Evan — with his flirty actions and overbearing body language — posed as a threat, setting off sirens and alarms in James' mind that droned out that tiny voice at the back of his head. He felt like a kid with a sugar high, every cell in his body jumping around like static from a TV.

James decided to bring it up, unable to help himself, once all the boxes were unpacked and Regulus was meticulously setting up his drawing supplies on his desk.

He took a deep breath. “Hey, Reg?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of Evan?”

Regulus glanced at James over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” James shrugged, “Just, like, what do you think of him?”

“Um, he seems cool, I suppose,” he said, voice distant like he wasn't entirely tuned into the conversation.

James grunted. “Cool?”

Regulus paused before turning around, practically in slow motion, before he leaned on his desk and crossed his arms. “Yes, James, cool. What's your problem?”

“I don't have a problem.”

“Your voice keeps getting high at the end of each sentence, like it does when you have a problem.”

“It does not-”

“James,” Regulus gave him a pointed look. “Just spit it out, okay? I still need to organize my paints.”

James let out a sigh through his nose. “He just— he just— he seems— I just think—”

“James.”

“He's just a bit of a flirt, that's all! I'm just worried about him making you feel uncomfortable,” James said, not meeting the younger boys eye. “I would hate for you to have a roommate that makes you uncomfortable. Especially when I'm so far away.”

Regulus mouth twitched like he was about to smile, but he stopped it before it could become a real one. He pushed himself off the desk and walked past James before he sat next to him on his bed, angling his body to face him better.

“Jamie,” Regulus said softly. “Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but,” he leaned in ever so slightly, “Weren't you literally nominated as Class Flirt in the yearbook senior year?”

James spluttered. “Yeah, but this is different!”

“How?”

“Because you don't know him, Reggie.”

“That's true,” Regulus nodded, patient. “But I'll get to know him, what with him being my roommate and everything.”

James let out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, but—”

“James,” Regulus said in that tone that makes it feels like he was being scolded, in that way that made James feel hot all over. “One of the reasons Evan is going here is because his boyfriend goes here, too.”

That shut James right up. For about a minute. “What if he's polyamorous?”

Regulus fell back on the bed with a groan. He threw his arms out like he was making a snow angel but only with his upper body, his pale skin delightful against the quilt James's mom made, all earth tones and tassels. James lied down too, but he rolled onto his side so he could still look at Regulus.

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. Regulus turned his head to meet his eye. “I'm just really gonna miss you, and I think it's making me all funky.”

“Funky,” Regulus teased. “Don't forget we'll be as far apart as last year, Jamie. Not to mention,” he rolled onto his side, “We do live in a time where technology exists, in case you forgot.”

James knew Regulus was trying to keep things light for him. Even though he was nominated as the Class Flirt, being nominated as Class Overly Emotional would've worked just as well. James isn't good at goodbyes, even if just temporary, and he was especially not good at saying goodbye to Regulus. It felt different now that they were both in college, rather than James being away and Regulus still being at his boarding school. The length of distance didn't really matter at the end of the day, not when no matter what it simply meant apart.

“You'll call me every Wednesday?” James confirmed.

Regulus nodded. “And you'll FaceTime me every Sunday?”

James hummed in response. “Alright, well, enough sad for now, wanna get lunch in the cafeteria? I don't have to leave just yet, and apparently they have an ice cream bar here. I would very much like to see it, if that's okay with you.”

Finally, finally Regulus smiled at him in that way that was reserved for very few. He stood up first and put out his hands, pulling James off the bed once James held onto them tightly. Regulus almost lost his balance due to the fact James might as well be twice his size, and James almost fell over due to the reminder that Regulus had lovely hands that were always cold.

“Can you help me with the paints when we get back?” Regulus asked, grabbing his ID from his bedside table. “Sirius bought me new ones, so I have to set up twice as many tubes.”

“Sure,” James agreed, putting his hands in his pant pockets. He wrinkled his nose. “You never answered me, by the way.”

Regulus lead the way out of the room. “Answered what?”

“If Evan is poly.”

Once he closed the door, pulling on it once to make sure it was locked, Regulus turned around to make eye contact with James before dramatically rolling his eyes and pushing past him. James followed after him without telling his body to do so.

“It's none of my business whether he is or not,” Regulus said briskly, side eyeing James when he was fully caught up. “And if he is, then there's nothing wrong with that, James.”

His gut twisted. “No, I know that. It's just—”

“And while we're on the topic of what's right and what's wrong,” Regulus cut him off, “Those stars were not centered above my bed. Do better.”

James felt his stomach swoop and his arm tingle, as if the plant inside him just grew a new leaf. Whatever grows within him had always been rather fond of Regulus.

Unable to help himself, he smiled down at Regulus who was looking forward with a look of defiance, then he tugged sharply on his earlobe and sprinted forward with lightening in his veins.

There was an exasperated shout of “James Potter! You little cunt, get back here!”, so James smiled bigger and ran faster. He was hoping Regulus would notice.

-

☆ Five Years Ago ☆

There had been a lot of turbulence on the plane.

There had been a lot of turbulence on the plane, and James had forgotten headphones and refused to use the ones provided. This had meant that he'd spent the entire flight to Spain watching movies on silent and playing Tetris on his phone.

James had two weeks off from his job as a social worker, and he was using that time to visit Regulus in Spain. Regulus had really found himself in college, had strengthened his talents as an artist, and he was now an artist in residency just a year after graduation.

It had been a year since James last saw Regulus in person, and to make matters worse, they were barely able to call or video chat due to the time difference, because of James' demanding job and the fact that Regulus had a boyfriend.

Since they had been together all of senior year, and since he had no real plans after graduation, Evan had tagged along with Regulus when he made the big move. Ever since they started dating, since James' worst fears had come true, communication had shifted between him and Regulus, and it simply tore James apart in ways he thought were reserved for movies.

Coming to Spain was Regulus' idea. Despite the decrease in communication, the pair talked enough for Regulus to know how taxing James' career was. He had promised to show James around Spain, to show him his studio and show him his new pieces, to lay on the beach and eat pasta while drinking cheap sparkling wine. It all sounded rather lovely, until James remembered Evan was most likely going to be part of a good portion of it all.

Because their relationship was “open” — Evan's idea, not Regulus' — Evan wouldn't be around the whole time due to his visits with his usual hookups, but that almost made it worse. James knew Regulus wasn't an “open” relationship type of guy, that Evan was fucking his way through Spain while Regulus made his paintings and didn't explore the “open” aspects of their relationship. The fact that there was probably a deeper meaning as to why Regulus was okay with all of this sometimes kept James up at night, especially the nights when he tried to figure out what exactly that deeper meaning was.

It helped that Sirius hated Evan, too.

James, of course, was still single. He wasn't very good with relationships, enjoyed the occasional hook up as he was only human, but he'd found that no matter who he was with or what the label of the relationship was, there'd always just been something…missing. Plenty of the relationships had been really great, James had been really happy, but the weight of something missing had always dominated everything else, so nothing lasted.

It had been a bit of a shock when, after approximately six years, James came to terms with the fact that the gaping hole within him, the absence of that missing something, came in the form of a brooding man who loved to paint, who planted a seed within him all those years ago. He had rediscovered a note in the drawer of the bedside table in his childhood bedroom, and the simple act of reading those six words triggered something in James that he had hidden deep within himself and, as a result, made everything fall into place.

That and, of course, the whole reveal of Regulus being in a committed relationship with not only someone who wasn't him, but his arch nemesis of all people.

His mom found him curled on his side atop his bed, tears dry but nose still sniffly. A one day trip to gather some things for his new apartment turned into a week long visit, where James spent a lot of time self reflecting with the support of his mother who, in theory, was to blame for the blow up happening in the first place.

But that was besides the point; that didn't matter right now.

What mattered was that James had officially landed in Spain, he was gonna let off some steam and enjoy his stay, and he wasn't going to think about his newly discovered feelings for his best friend, nor was he going to let stupid fucking Evanruin the trip for him. James was going to have fun, god damnit.

He had his carry on bag over his left shoulder and his duffel in his right hand as he stood by the curb of the street outside the airport. Regulus was going to pick him up in a taxi any minute now, and then they would go back to his apartment where Regulus had promised to make them dinner. They were going to eat on the terrace that looked out across a brick road, lined with withering buildings as music from the nearby town played in the distance.

Regulus raved about the people watching opportunities, had often told James he would even incorporate the interesting ones into his paintings. It had sounded dreamy, and James couldn't wait to finally prove to his self conscious that it was real, including Regulus and his close proximity, that he hadn't made it all up.

There was the one tiny detail that Regulus was running late. It was only by five minutes, so it wasn't really a big deal, except for the fact it maybe was as he wasn't responding to James' texts and he was the kind of guy who was always early. He'll give it another five minutes before freaking out completely, and if he was still a no show, James would be very brave and call stupid Evan.

A taxi pulled up the moment James's foot started to bounce with anxiety, a door was thrown open, and before James could fully comprehend everything, Regulus was pressed against him, arms around his neck and face buried in his chest. James dropped his bags to wrap his arms around Regulus, lifting him into the air, high enough until the younger boy laughed.

“You dick,” James said into Regulus's hair once he was back on two feet. “I was starting to think you weren't coming! Wh— what—”

James didn't finish his sentence, because Regulus had finally pulled back from their embrace, and James finally got his first real look at the man before him.

Despite his pale complexion, the sun had been kind to Regulus, his skin a soft olive shade and the freckles across his nose darker than James had ever seen them. His hair was a little bit longer, to his chin now instead of his ears, and there was a small stripe of paint on one of his high cheekbones. He was wearing the overalls he used in his studio with a white t shirt underneath, his feet clad in the same paint-covered converse he wore the last time James saw him.

But then there was the fact that his eyes didn't look as bright as they usually did, there was a darkness beneath them that shouldn't be there and his hair wasn't shiny like it typically was. He smiled at James, one where his pretty teeth were on display, but James noticed that despite it taking up his whole face, there weren't true smile lines nestled beside his eyes.

“Hi Jamie,” he smiled, picking up James's carry on bag.

“Hi Reggie,” James smiled back, picking up his duffel. He lightly swiped his thumb across the paint on his skin. “Doing okay?”

Regulus nodded once, his eyes moving down James's body before finding his eyes once more. “Doing okay,” he said in a way that wasn't exactly convincing, but he turned to open the trunk before James could dare to comment on it. “Sorry I'm late, by the way. I was finishing a painting and last track of time.”

James waved his hand in dismissal; he loved when Regulus got lost in his art.

They sat side by side in the back once the bags were put away and the taxi drove off, knees bumping into each other over pot holes and during turns. Regulus caught James's eyes. “So. How was the flight?”

For the rest of the drive to Regulus's home, James informed him all about his horrible plane ride experience, throwing in dramatic gestures and moans and groans in hopes to make the man beside him smile, to start bringing back the crinkles by his eyes. By the end of the drive, their knees no longer bump. Instead, they stuck.

The apartment was tiny and perfect. There was one bedroom and one bathroom, a studio apartment layout for the kitchen and living space, and there was a tiny terrace big enough to fit two bodies and nothing more. The building was a peach color, and the terrace was wrapped with an iron grate, leaves and swirls creating some sort of grand effect.

Within the apartment, everything was entirely spotless, except for the living space, where half of the room was dedicated to Regulus's art supplies. He had an easel with a canvas, a stool with a red cushion, and a tiny table with wheels next to the stool where his palette rested on top. It was overflowing with paints, terpenoid bottles, mason jars full of brushes and palette knives, paper towels and dirty rags, paint bottles half empty with a binder clip as well as bottles that hadn't been opened yet. There were pencils and pens skewed between things, and on the floor beneath the easel was a very well loved sketchbook.

Regulus still had the leather pencil case that he was using when James first met him. It feels cruel that there weren't enough words in the human language to describe just how much James loved this side of the boy who lived in his heart. For a brief, selfish second, James lets himself think about a life with Regulus, watching him paint, hearing his ideas, seeing him struggle to get the last bit out of a paint tube because he hated waisting paint.

“You paint here, too?” James asked after he walked through the whole apartment.

Regulus began to boil water over a tiny stove. “I like to test out ideas here before bringing them to the studio.”

“Can I see your studio tomorrow?” Please oh please oh please oh please?

“Sure,” Regulus shrugged. “Maybe after we can go to the beach.”

Already, James could't seem to help himself. “Will Evan be there?”

Regulus doesn't answer right away. He pulled out a large jar of marinara sauce from the fridge and the box of noodles from the cabinet next to it. Adding some salt with the little lamb shaped shaker to the water that remained still, he let out a sigh.

“We probably won't see Evan until Monday.”

James frowned. “He's away all weekend?”

The last James heard, Evan was never gone for more than a night, which was part of their agreement when making the relationship open. Evan was allowed to do whatever he wanted, but staying out for more than one night with another person was where Regulus drew the line. To him, it felt like doing such a thing made the relationship not a serious one, and even though Regulus suddenly became open minded and against monogamy, he didn't want a relationship if it wasn't serious.

James didn't understand his logic, but that wasn't really saying a lot because James didn't understand any aspect of whatever was happening between Regulus and Evan. It was his own fault for bringing the little bastard up in the first place, and he already regretted it; he felt his anger rising over the bare minimum spoken and it was pure agony.

“So,” James tried changing the topic, “Where will I be sleeping tonight?”

He supposes he could sleep on the couch, even though it was near impossible to get to. It was pressed against the wall, and surrounding it lived Regulus's “home studio”. Maybe if he took a running start and jumped up in the air it would work; it was probably delightful sleeping in the space with the doors to the terrace open.

“Well,” Regulus increased the heat of the stove, “If you want to enjoy the luxury of a bed for three nights before spending ten on a tiny sofa, you can sleep with me,” he says. “It's a king, and I just washed the sheets.”

James's entire body froze up; maybe he misheard. He must've misheard. “What?”

“We've shared a bed a thousand times, James,” Regulus rolled his eyes in that way that James was so fond of. “It's not a big deal.”

“But,” James choked on his spit and sent himself into a coughing fit. Regulus watched him with a pointed look, all the way up until the moment he got ahold of himself. He cleared his throat for good measure.

“Is Evan okay with that?” he asked.

“Why wouldn't he be?” there was a shift in Regulus's face. “You're my best friend and he knows that. Plus, he gets to share a bed with others, so why can't I?”

The water started to boil so Regulus turned around to tend to it. Meanwhile, James wasn't entirely sure as to what was going on. Obviously he was ecstatic at the idea of sleeping next to Regulus, because it was something they used to do all the time and James had missed the feeling of it. He was trying not to be sad over the fact the suggestion came from a place of extreme friend zoning, tried to focus on the positive, but if he was being honest, he also felt a little uneasy.

There could be a lot of meaning behind those words. First Regulus referred to him as a best friend, but then he compared James to the people Evan fucked, implying that he wanted James to play that role. It wasn't that James was under the impression that Regulus wanted to finally explore the open aspect of his relationship via James, but rather it only made James that much more worried.

At the airport, James had noticed how tired and worn Regulus appeared. Now he was finding out that Evan was out multiple nights in a row, leaving Regulus alone in an empty house for who knows how often.

Regulus had always hated an empty house, was easily frightened in any space alone because of where he grew up. Anyone who knew Regulus knew that detail about him.

“Alright,” James finally answered, but his voice was soft, and Regulus had just dumped the noodles in the water, making a loud sizzling noise that washed the single word away.

He watched Regulus get on his tippy toes to pull down some plates and two glasses. He pulled open a drawer to get two forks, and then he pulled out another drawer to get two cloth napkins. His movements were stiff, like he was sore from a workout, and as he slid against the tiled floor in the kitchen to fill the glasses with water, a strap of his overalls fell off his shoulder.

Something felt off. James had thought that maybe there would be a bit of awkwardness initially, what with how long it had been since they had been in the same room, but this was different. Regulus put the now full glasses by the plates and pulled up the fallen strap, then he checked on the noodles and stirred them around with a wooden spoon.

It hit James like a car crash while he was standing in the kitchen, elbows resting on the marble countertop of the small island, that things felt off balance because the Regulus in front of him felt like a Regulus he maybe didn't know. It was still Regulus, his Regulus, but it was almost like someone made a clone of the man and just about completed the training, but didn't finish.

Then there was the fact that James now wasn't sure if the reason for him being here, for Regulus suggesting he come visit, was for reasons other than a reunion and a break from the exhausting parts of life. Could he be here simply as a distraction? Would that be such a bad thing?

The way in which James' stomach twisted and turned made him think maybe it was more of a bad thing than a good thing. He was more than happy to be there for Regulus, to be used by Regulus, it was just that James came all this way because he thought Regulus wanted him here, had missed him and wanted to be with him.

Now it felt like maybe he was only here on a whim, an after thought, as a willing body to be used as a way to cope with a shitty boyfriend and nothing else.

“Reg?”

“Hm?”

James took a few steps around the island so that he was closer to Regulus. “Will you look at me, please?”

He does.

“Are you sure you're doing alright?”

Regulus scoffed.

“No, I mean really, Reggie,” James pressed. “It's just me and you right now, yeah? What's going on?”

At first, Regulus didn’t respond, just stirred the noodles that most likely would be finished in a minute or two. James gave him time to respond, but then too much time passed without a word, and James’ skin began to itch like he’d rolled in poison ivy.

“Reg?” he tried, scratching his arm.

With a sigh big enough to move his shoulders noticeably up and down, Regulus put down his wooden spoon and walked up to James.

“Jamie,” Regulus said, resting his hands on James’s shoulders. “I promise you, I’m fine. I need you to trust me on this, okay?”

“But—“

“Please.”

Which is rather cruel of Regulus to say, as it was a known fact that the Black brothers struggle with very little more than they struggle with saying please. It was important to acknowledge that James also had struggled for many years to say no to the painter.

So James dropped it, despite the fact his gut twisted violently and there was a pain behind his eyes and something just felt wrong wrong wrong.

They ate pasta on the terrace and James told Regulus about his work, about how he was thinking of getting a dog (he won’t), and Regulus told James about his paintings, his residency, and does not bring Evan up once.

The people watching was indeed splendid, the music instrumental and lively, and they end up spending hours in the summer heat on a magical night in Spain. James got very close to forgetting Regulus’ refusal to address what was clearly wrong, but it was something so hefty it was hard for it to not linger.

When they finally grew tired enough that it was difficult to keep their eyes open, James slept in Regulus's bed, and continued to do so for two more nights. They both made a point of trying not to touch the other, but they failed miserably each morning when they woke up in the arms of the other.

The day after James had arrived, Regulus showed James his studio, and James spent a very long time taking it all in, not a single word uttered. It was hard to speak when a reminder is thrown in your face about the beautiful talent the one you love beholds.

Time, inevitably, goes by quickly after that.

They explored as much of Spain as possible, eating pasta and devouring gelato, trying to rid of tense silences, and playing nice with Evan when he deemed them worthy of his presence. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and sometimes Saturdays, James goes to the studio with Regulus. He kept him company, watched him paint, and on the really good days, Regulus gave James his other AirPod and they listened to an audiobook together.

Regulus created and James devoured it — the space he was in, the oil paint that kissed the canvas, the company he kept — just like they always used to. James couldn’t help but think that if magic was a thing that truly existed, it would be found in this room underneath his nails like dirt, in his eyes like dust, and invading his veins to greedily find its way to his selfish heart.

James also continued to keep Regulus company on the nights his bed was empty, doing his very best to never get close enough to touch what it was that he truly desired. It was clear Regulus was doing the same. They continue to fail this pointless quest, neither one of them ever mentioning it.

Which, honestly, just made it all that much worse.

On James' final night, he was on the terrace with Regulus while Evan sat on the ledge of the doorway. The three of them were sipping on red wine, James and Regulus sharing a cigarette because Evan “refuses to get lung cancer when he's in his prime”. The street below them was quiet, the breeze scarcely a whisper, and the polluted air only made a handful of twinkling stars visible.

It could be so easy to be happy here, if life was but a smidge different.

“What time's your flight?” Evan asked.

James tore his eyes away from Regulus' lips twisting to fit around the cigarette. “10:00am.”

“So we should probably leave here around 8:00am, Ev,” Regulus added, blowing out the smoke before quickly taking another drag.

James closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the metal gate, breathing in the the humid air, smiling when it stuck to his sweaty skin. Evan ruined the euphoria of it all in a matter of a few seconds, which seemed to be a common theme for him. James hated him.

“About that,” Evan said sheepishly, his tone so utterly disgusting that James snapped his eyes open. “I was thinking maybe you could go with James to the airport…without me…”

It was like one of those movies where the director was trying to show how fast the super hero was. The audience got the impression that the air was thick like clay, and the civilians barely moved while the super hero achieved one hundred and one things in the span of a millisecond. The one difference between that scenario and this one was that Evan never would be the super hero, no matter how badly Regulus seemingly wanted him to be.

“How come?” Regulus asked, voice slightly strained. James sat up straighter; a knee jerk reaction.

“Barty is coming a day early,” Evan replied, rubbing the back of his neck, so clearly putting on the innocent guy act that James might have vomited. “So I'll probably leave around 9:00am to meet him, and then I probably won't be back until Friday.”

The air thickened even more. Regulus looked at his boyfriend like he had three heads.

“But tomorrow is Monday.”

“It is.”

Regulus tossed the cig into the street without looking to make sure no one was at risk of injury, making a point as to not break eye contact. James watched it until it fell to the ground so as to make sure it hadn't fallen on any innocent walkers, which, thank God, it didn't.

“So you're going to be gone the entire fucking week?” Regulus spat.

Evan sighed. “Babe, it's not that big of a deal. I told you I'd be seeing Barty.”

“For a night, Evan.”

“What, so, James can spend two weeks with us but I can't spend a few days with Barty?”

“James is my friend!” Regulus exclaimed. “I'm not fucking him like you will be Barty, I didn't date him like you did Barty. Don't talk to me like I'm stupid, and don't treat me like I am, either. ”

Evan had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Whatever, Reggie, let's talk about this later, yeah? James doesn't wanna hear all of this, you've had too much wine, and I think—”

“No, no we're talking about this right now, actually,” Regulus said. “I don't want you spending the entire week with Barty, that's not what we agreed on.”

“What, like there's a rule book?” Evan scoffed. “What's gotten into you? Suddenly your prince charming shows up and you decide your standards have changed?”

“Evan,” Regulus warned.

“No, really,” Evan continued, maybe because of the wine, maybe because he was an asshole, maybe both. He laughed a humorless laugh. “Where's this coming from? Why make a scene? Because that's what you're doing right now, Reg. Making a scene,” he waved his arms around, contradicting his words entirely. “This couldn't wait for later? Trying to prove a point in front of James fucking Potter? Think I don't see what you're trying to prove?”

“Evan.”

“You're allowed to fuck whoever you want, too, you know that right? I'm not some sort of monster because I'm fucking other people even though you're not. You said you were okay with this, you made me have long, meaningful conversations about the whole thing for weeks, and now we're just taking steps backwards? Erasing all of it? I'm just— I'm just so sick and tired of being the bad guy when I've done nothing wrong! Just because you can't snap out of the Virgin Mary role your parents always put you in—” he let out an exasperated breath, rubbing at his eyes like a tired child finally finished with their meltdown. “Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that I'm just—”

James didn't let him finish.

This blow up between the couple seems to have been building the entire time James had been here. He'd done a really good job of not butting into the fucked up relationship, didn't utter a peep each time Evan left for the night or acted like a dick, kept quiet while they went at it including right now. Granted, James had kept his mouth shut to keep Regulus and only Regulus happy. He couldn't care less about stupid fucking Evan.

Evan had been the worst company in the world over those two weeks, but despite that, his behavior right then felt like a stark contrast. He was worse right now than he'd been the entire trip, and maybe that was part of the reason James snapped and decided to finally shut him up. Seeing the reality of what Regulus claimed to be a happy partnership with the man he loved was both eye opening and hard to fully digest; it was easier to hope for the best when you could still get away with being ignorant. James could no longer get away with being ignorant and he didn't want to.

James quieted the blonde haired man with a swift but steady punch to his face, hitting him hard enough to knock him backwards. Once Evan was splayed on the ground, clutching his bloody nose and screeching like a cat in a bathtub, James pinned his chest down with his knee and proceeded to hit and hit and hit. The silence that filled his often overcrowded head each time his fist hurt a little bit more as it made contact to bloody skin felt like an oasis. If James was a man that believed in God, he thought that it was likely the tranquility he was experiencing was where heaven could be found.

He only stopped once he heard a soft “Jamie”, spoken from what could only be an angel. A real one, though. Not one that lived in the safety of his mind that slowly begun to slip away once reality began to slip back in.

There was a delicate hand on his shoulder — not pushing or pulling but simply resting — and that barely there touch was enough, it was finally enough, because James knew what it meant. He gave a slight nod of his head to show that he understood, before he leaned over Evan to whisper in his ear, needing to get the last word in before complying to the angel.

“If we were alone right now,” James whispered, “I want you to understand that I wouldn't stop until your world went dark and my Prince Charming smile was the last thing you'd ever see. Maybe next time, yeah?”

James got off of Evan with a condescending pat to his cheek. Walking around the body and to the kitchen to get ice for his busted hand, James gave Regulus space to tend to his crying, pathetic, stupid little boyfriend. There was a bag of frozen peas calling his name, and the angel swooped in to care for the wrong person once more.

It took seven minutes to come to the conclusion that Regulus had to take Evan to the hospital, and James, of course, was left behind without any goodbyes exchanged.

The ache that was inside of James the moment Regulus walked out the door felt like hot iron consuming his heart, leaving behind a gaping wound that would last for many years to come.

Life would've played out so differently if James had become a cardiologist instead of a social worker. Because he loved his job it most likely wouldn’t have made things better, but maybe it would've made things easier.

He was only human. He loved a challenge, but he also wasn’t entirely against those little pockets of life that lacked the hardships of his reality. Right now he could certainly use some knowledge of how the heart worked; scientific facts, not metaphorical poetry from a romantic novel.

Regulus had always hated those types of books. The irony was not lost on James. If anything, it was a bit of a wake up call.

Those stories had always been his favorite.

-

☆ Two Years Ago ☆

“Now, I’m not sure how many of you know this story, but it’s rather important I share it on a day as special as this one,” James said, fiddling with the microphone, holding back a laugh when he heard Sirius whisper shouting a “No!”.

“When these two first met, Remus was working his first shift at the school cafe that Sirius frequented at least once a day. We’ve all heard about the immediate spark they felt, how it was no doubt love at first sight and blah, blah, blah,” he teased. “What most of you don’t know is that after that life changing interaction, Sirius returned to our dorm room and threw his bag and his coffee on the floor, then proceeded to break down and sob.

“Keep in mind, despite having known Sirius for many years at this point, I had never seen him cry. I had thought something horrible had happened, and it only made it worse that Sirius was inconsolable — I’m talking snot running down his face, moaning and groaning, the whole works — and I couldn’t get him to tell me what was wrong. So, obviously, I held him in my arms like a tiny baby and patted his pretty little head until he quieted down, and do you know what the first thing he said to me was? He said— no, sorry, he all but wailed, ‘I think love might be real'. Embarrassing, I know. Humiliating even.”

The room filled with laughter but mostly “awww”'s and coos.

“Moony,” James nodded to Remus, fond and growing tearful, “Padfoot,” he nodded to Sirius, raised his glass, “You make it hard to believe that love existed in the world before you found each other. I know this is supposed to be your line, but let me have this okay?” he smiled playfully. “I am the luckiest man in the world to have both of you in my life. I would wish you a long and happy marriage, but I already know it will be so there’s no need for all that, now is there?” the room cheered, “I love you both entirely too much, and I can’t believe I came to this wedding with a brother and I get to leave with a brother and a brother in law. I apologize in advance for being the unofficial third member of your marriage, but this is your official warning, so. Prepare yourselves.

“Congratulations to the newly weds,” James smile grew impossibly bigger, “May we all be lucky enough to one day have a love like yours.” James raised his glass even higher. “To Remus and Sirius!”

And the wedding guests replied “To Remus and Sirius!”

When James returned to his seat next to Remus, it was to find his best friend looking a lot like he did that day he came into their dorm after meeting his future husband. Sirius proceeded to reach across his spouse to throw his arms around James, nuzzling his head into his neck. While Sirius dampened James crisp shirt collar with tears and boogers, Remus gently rubbed circles on his husbands lower back.

James was sitting beside Remus because he was his best man, and Regulus sat beside Sirius because he was Sirius’s best man. When James had seen Regulus at the rehearsal dinner the day before, it was the first time since they’ve seen each other in three years.

And oh, how beautiful he was, how he still took James’ breath away, refusing to return it lest James pry it from his lovely painter hands. He wouldn’t do such a thing, of course; he felt rather drunk with the thought of Regulus keeping any part of him, even if metaphorical.

They made small talk at both the dinner and the wedding — they did what was needed of them as best men — but they didn’t catch up, and neither tried to take it a step further to make it anything of substance. Regulus was simply too shy, too awkward to say anything, and James was too worried about saying the wrong thing, too scared of making things worse.

Years from now, when they look back on this day, their first thought won’t be how it was the day their favorite people made a promise to be devoted to one another for the rest of their lives. No, that would be too simple.

Their first thought will be about how stupid they were to let something as microscopic as shyness and saying the wrong thing get in the way of what could’ve been. It will be a day, a memory, that eats James alive like some kind of revolting obsession until his dying breath.

It will also be a day that the two men look back on with a healthy dose of annoyance. If they had fully committed to their avoidance rather than using precious time to sulk, to stare longingly without following through like they were children once more, then maybe they would’ve noticed how Sirius had been watching.

Had begun plotting.

-

☆ Present Day ☆

“I wasn't mad,” Regulus explains, an hour later. “You must know that. I was never mad, James,” he says, “I was, however, a bit embarrassed.”

They sit side by side on a red leather bench in front of a painting by N.C. Wyeth, Regulus's favorite artist. At first they explored the museum as if they were truly strangers on a blind date, but then James couldn't help himself (as always) and started asking things he maybe shouldn't have. It was rather difficult to move past it once it was brought up.

It was unavoidable that Spain would make an appearance.

“You left without saying goodbye,” James says. “You didn't say anything to me for practically five years, because of it.”

“You didn't say anything either.”

“Perhaps I was embarrassed, too.”

Regulus takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. “I was mortified.”

“Because of what I did?”

“Because of what I allowed,” Regulus corrects. “It's much harder to be the bigger man when you're weighed down by such a thing as shame.”

James crosses his legs. He likes the painting in front of them, and not only because he knows it's Regulus' favorite. He also feels enraptured by the way emotion is displayed in such a human way on faces that are composed of oil paint and paint thinner.

“What happened?” he asks. “After that night. What have you been up to all these years?”

If James were to spare a second to glance at the man beside him, the one he thinks of each time Patroclus says “he is half my soul, as the poets say” when he listens to the audiobook when he drinks too much tequila, he would be aware of the smile that teases his lips. Regulus sees the out he's being given.

“Well, I broke up with Evan while we were waiting for the doctor to get the paper work so we could leave.”

James head whips to the side, gasping dramatically. “What?”

“Yup,” Regulus nods, “Was a real wake up call, that whole incident, if I'm honest. I think that's what I'm most embarrassed by — how long it took, y'know? — especially when I look back at it all now. I can't believe I was so stupid, but then I remember I was only just becoming a real human being and I was bound to fail a time or two,” he says. “Or at least, that's what I've been trying to do.”

“Very wise.”

Regulus laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyways,” he scratches the back of his head. “After that I finished up the residency, spent a solid two years traveling the world bouncing between even more residency things, painted like I always dreamed of. In all honesty it was the wedding that kind of changed my perspective; seeing Sirius and Remus like that made me realize that I was tired and wanted to settle down, which, gross,” he shivers. “Then I moved to France, bought a rundown house that had a garden full of flowers and floors that creaked, and I even had my first solo art show, sold some paintings and shook lots of hands. Didn't last long, mind you, because I realized I did indeed want to settle but I wanted to settle wherever home was, and, well,” he shrugs, “Sadly that just so happens to be here. Which, again, gross.”

James takes a moment to digest all that's been said. He tries not to let the fact he missed Regulus' first solo show eat away too much at his heart. It was hard knowing how much James had missed in those years, the details left out, just by the brief summary he's been given.

He traveled the world? He lived in France? What an endless list of things that could've taken place on a life full of such adventure. James wouldn't mind hearing all of it.

“Enough about me,” Regulus clears his throat, and James knows he probably feels uncomfortable talking about himself. “What about you?”

James looks back to the painting. “Honestly? Not much has changed since I saw you in Spain. I love my job, I'm still working at the hospital as a social worker and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I moved out of my apartment and into a row house with a patio in the back and a bright red front door. I've gotten really into houseplants. Um…oh, and, most importantly” James grins when he meets Regulus's eye, “I finally got a dog.”

It's Regulus' turn to dramatically gasp. “No!”

James pulls up his phone, nodding his head enthusiastically, and opens the photo album dedicated to Petunia before passing it over to Regulus. He immediately coos at each image.

“Her name is Petunia,” James tells him, proud like he's talking about his first born son. “She's a Pitbull, two years old, has three legs, and is potentially the love of my life.”

Regulus hands the phone back to James when he reaches the end of the album a few minutes later, the only noise filling the space being his darling little sounds of adoration. James expects him to ask about Petunia.

He's slightly thrown off when, instead, Regulus asks in a very small voice, “Potentially?”

There's an awkward pause. But then,

“Maybe you can come by and meet her some time. She's more social than Sirius,” James redirects in an obvious way. “But, fair warning, she will try to sit in your lap and she will succeed.”

And she will, because she’s the type of dog that thinks she can fit in a lap when she really, really can’t. James likes the idea of Petunia sitting in Regulus’s lap, likes the idea of witnessing his past and his present becoming one single force.

It’s just hard not to be scared. It feels like he’s back in Spain in a way, like he’s unsure of Regulus’ intentions and whether or not what he’s saying is literal or has a double meaning. What business does he have saying “potentially”, and why did he feel the need to single out that word in particular? Surely he knows the weight of it.

Except maybe he doesn’t, and that’s what urges James to make a swift subject change, despite wanting to stay on that topic until the sun rises again. He doesn’t want to seem eager, knows he has a problem of being Too Much, but it’s always been different with Regulus. Everything is different with him.

James tries to read his face to see if it reveals any secrets, but he finds its not as easy as it once was due to the years apart. It’s easy to fall back into how they were before everything went to shit, but easy doesn’t mean everything’s suddenly doable without hardship.

All James knows, at this point in time, is that he has missed Regulus like dry soil misses rain, and because of this, he’s willing to be flexing albeit a bit hesitant. He’s earned the right to be hesitant.

“I know this sounds dramatic,” Regulus smiles, a little wobbly, “But I literally think I might die if I don’t meet Petunia, your three legged dog, within the next few days.”

It's daunting how James finds his arm aches with want, with how eager it is to help raise his hand to brush a fallen lock of hair from Regulus's dark eyebrow. He instead scoots closer to him, making the bench squeak with his movement, but James doesn't mind. He's not trying to be subtle; he’s trying to let himself breathe again in a way he’s longed for, and he’s trying desperately to push back against the hesitancy that he’s so rightfully deserves.

But maybe it just comes down to the fact that he’s tired.

Maybe he's just starting to realize the act of being subtle is a waste of time, and James knows from years of experience that wasted time is…well it's rather stupid, isn't it? Especially when there's so much time that's already been lost.

“We still have a lot we need to talk about,” he says softly, feeling brave enough to return to the topic that’s been hanging over his head ever so patiently.

“I know,” Regulus whispers in return. There's a softness to his eyes James hadn't noticed before.

“How about,” James says, pausing briefly for a last minute think through before pushing forward. “On Saturday, a week from today, you stop by my new place and we can continue the conversation? Petunia can keep us company and I'll even be so kind as to provide apple juice in fun mugs.”

Apple juice in fun mugs became their thing a year or two into their friendship. Whether they were hanging out, one of them was stressed over school or upset over the consequences of life, they found solstice and safety in the silly action.

Oftentimes James felt it was equivalent to a therapy session. Maybe that should've been a telling sign as to how his future might turn out. He smiles at the thought.

Regulus briefly shatters his entire world when he reaches out to brush away a lock of hair that's fallen on his forehead. “Alright,” he murmurs once his hand has returned to his side, like what's just been done is no big deal. “What do we do in the meantime?”

James metaphorically shakes off the shock of Regulus' small action — gets his act together — then easily grins at the other man in that way that makes his whole face light up. It's a smile that his mother always joked was bright enough she could use it as a light if the power were to go out. It also always made Regulus blush when directed at him, like it is right now.

There's something rather special in the mutual agreement that what's happening now, despite what's happened in the past and what's to happen in the near future, is okay. This moment, right here, together, is all they need. It's a beautiful, sappy thought, but, regardless, James just smiles even bigger.

He stands up from the bench — pops up, rather — and puts his hands on his hips. “I do believe this is a date,” he declares, puffing out his chest with pride like Superman role play. “So maybe we can look at some art, maybe you can tell me fun facts about all the ones you know, and we can go from there.”

“As easy as that?” Regulus clarifies, his eyes wide and words slow.

“As easy as that,” James tells him. “If we let it be.”

Regulus looks at the painting, makes his thinking face, then his eyes find James's, like they always had a habit of doing. It's hard to look away once the connection is made, although James must come clean and admit he's never exactly tried to be the one that breaks the contact. Regulus stands up and joins him at his side.

“If we go down the hall and make a left and go up two flights of stairs then down another hall and make a right,” Regulus says without a glance at the map that's been shoved in his pocket long ago, “We can see the Monet exhibit, and then the Sally Mann exhibit will be the room across,” he explains as he abruptly begins to walk towards the exit, pace like a tour guide.

“Chop, chop, Jamie,” he calls over his shoulder, softly clapping his hands twice. “We have places to be and people to see!”

James follows after him because it's how this thing between them has always worked, and the game seemingly begins again after what felt like a brief intermission. It's as if the lights are flickering in the theater; the shows about to start, and when the curtains lift, the plant that's been lying dormant within James comes to life once more, ready for whatever's next.

-

☆ One Year Later — Vienna, Austria ☆

James has his arm around Regulus's shoulders while Regulus holds James around the waist. It's too hot, the air sticky, the space crowded, but it's hard to feel any type of resentment towards it.

They've been together a year now.

Four months after their talk on a rainy Saturday, everything laid out before them — apple juice shared, tears shed, Petunia cuddles, a kiss that makes your toes curl and your insides knot — Regulus had moved in with James. He has a room where he paints, a studio close by that was featured in last weeks newspaper, and a bed with a chihuahua quilt that they share, a gift from Sirius that was given with a smug smile as a “housewarming” gift.

Since Regulus works a job where he makes his own hours, and James had gone many years once again without a vacation, they decided to go somewhere beautiful to celebrate the past year, of what was overcome and what was still left to discover. Regulus picked Austria, had known of it due to one of those residency's he did, and also for this moment in particular.

Arms around each other, light shirts with inevitable pit stains, James and Regulus take in the beauty that is The Kiss by Gustav Klimt (the original one, no less). They probably need to move soon to let some other tourist admire the magic of it, but it's rather hard to get Regulus to move once his eyes are locked on a painting such as this one.

It's been very difficult for James to go this long without getting sappy enough that Regulus flicks him in the ear or pulls at the hair around his nipples to get him to knock it off. Little does Regulus know these little acts of quiet intimacy only make it worse, as James can't believe all of this is his and his alone. That despite his best attempts at the tough guy act, Regulus is in the same boat as him. It's obvious in his secret smiles, his unabashed shyness, and the way he paints James more then he does anything else.

James can't help it; he's always been a bit of a romantic, and he's had an idea in his head ever since Regulus mentioned this museum, this painting. It's inevitable that he lasts all of five minutes before he's unable to hold himself back, his patience rivaling that of a toddler, his excitement rivaling that of a puppy.

Trying to be casual, to be subtle, he uses the hand not on Regulus shoulder to cup his sharp chin, the other caressing the side of his head, and he pulls his boyfriend impossibly closer to kiss his splotchy cheek. He pulls back when Regulus starts to squirm.

“Baby,” James whispers into his ear, fully taking advantage of the fact he knows the term of endearment turns Regulus to mush. “Just humor me, yeah?”

That's all it really takes. Regulus rolls his eyes and James beams at him, pushing his nose into Regulus's cheek when he sees him pop his foot in the air. It comes as no surprise that he's so easily caught onto James' plan and is humoring him like always.

James kisses that flushed skin — the one he so adores — once, twice, three times, until Regulus giggles in that way he does only when smothered in affection by his partner in life. James quickly kisses the crinkles by his eyes that have finally returned; takes pride in how it makes Regulus giggle even more.

“I love you,” he sighs, after finally kissing Regulus' waiting lips. “I love you, I love you, I—”

Regulus shoves him off with a groan and a smile he's doing a very terrible job at hiding. James laughs, making grabby hands at him as he starts to take steps backwards despite there not really being the space to do so. He was always rather good at being stubborn.

“C'mon,” James eggs him on. “Say it back, Reggie!”

Regulus shakes his head fondly. “You're so annoying, you know that?”

He lets James catch him. He chases after James's mouth after they kiss again when James breaks the connection and attempts to pull back. They kiss with smiles, disgusting and lovesick, too enraptured by the other to find it in themselves to be embarrassed. James had never known it could be like this.

Eventually, Regulus pulls back but takes James's hand, pulling him through the crowds and to the other pieces he wants to see within the museum. After, they'll get ice cream and water bottles, they'll walk through a town with cobble stone roads and buildings with crumbling front steps, and then they'll end their night with the type of touch that's reserved for lovers behind closed doors.

James thinks of that tiny piece of paper, the thing that seemingly started it all, as he's dragged from room to room by a chronically cold hand. It's that tiny piece of paper that sits above their fire place in a sea foam green frame; Regulus all but demanded it be done once he knew what it was and what it meant.

James also thinks of the words Regulus wrote on the glass of the frame below the paper when he had too many wine slushies, before James caught on and pulled him away. He squeezes his lovers hand at the memory, and he can't help but think that it's rather annoying that his mother is always, always right.

Perhaps he'll send her a post card to say thanks.

☆ The End ☆