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The conditioned air is on. It’s been on since they've stepped onto the train, and Regulus is getting chilly . Chilly and pissed. On top of the unnecessary cold around him at the moment, he's being forced to share said moment with someone he'd rather not share anything close to this, ever.
He's sending a mental curse to Sirius every time he feels himself shivering. Because of course it's thanks to his brother if he's stuck here. On a probably less than clean seat, freezing his arse off in the middle of June ; not even going somewhere remotely exciting.
When Sirius e-mailed him about the fête , he didn't think much of it. It was one of these grouped messages with many, many addressees and many, many exclamation marks. Something about a get-together at he and James' place, to celebrate whatever there apparently is to celebrate. The invite ended up in Regulus’ inbox’s bin and far away from his mind.
It stayed there for at least a month, until his brother called him ; two days ago. Barely a day away from the actual event. Which Regulus had obviously not considered even as an option. But this didn't occur to Sirius, who proceeded to go on the longest speech about why Regulus should have, in fact, considered the fête as an option. Not only as an option but as his one and only option for this week-end, since it will be the summer solstice and you're finally off work, everyone's going to be there and why do you always need a literal manifesto before agreeing to come anywhere, you twat ?
It took fifteen extra minutes for Sirius to persuade him to say yes, and by that time Regulus was so close to hanging up on him that it felt more like a win, and less like a terrible decision he'll regret later on. So he agreed, Sirius squealed his happiness through the speaker and it was time to pack his bags, as well as scrap off any leftovers of energy.
And it wasn’t much. The leftovers weren’t much at all. He’s spent the last twelve months working his arse off for a company he doesn’t even respect. Now he’s fighting for his life while Remus tries to make polite conversation– it’s all very unpleasant. Not Remus ; Remus is never unpleasant. He’s always talking with care, being his thoughtful, kind self.
Which is exactly the problem right now. His brother’s best friend is being incredibly nice and courteous. Well-behaved. Chatty. Overall just way too civil considering the situation and Regulus’ monosyllabic answers. The latter is too busy trying not to fall asleep on the spot to correctly process even half of what Remus is saying. Trying , because he can feel himself starting to doze off already. Terribly rude to Remus– it’s not even the guy’s fault.
So he focuses on what he can to stay awake. Somewhere in his mind, a distant ghost of self-awareness is whispering that what he can focus on is definitely not what he should focus on here. But on his right, Remus is speaking in his quiet voice, head ever so slightly tilted towards him ; lips muttering and eyebrows softly frowning. He's been letting his hair grow for a few months and it’s flowing along the damn air conditioning, curls hovering light and low. He looks sort of charming, sort of like the prettiest man Regulus can think of right now. Every now and then, his eyes catch the late afternoon light. As Regulus stares at the iris’ warm browns, he decides that it is, in fact, completely acceptable to be staring like he is staring. Required, even.
His eyelids are getting heavier by the second, though. While he feels his eyes close on their own accord, he curses his past-self one last time for ever agreeing to anything suggested by his brother.
*
Regulus’ spine seems to approve when he stirs a little, glances towards the window. It's night now and he's met with a very groggy-looking reflection of himself. Puffy eyes and furrowed brows, squished wrinkles on his cheek. When did the sun even set ? The train is still and whatever tiny station he's squinting at through the glass is completely empty of people ; streetlamps only shining to exhibit the cracked concrete and overgrown weeds running on the platform. Regulus swallows. His mouth feels like plaster.
“ When- what time is it ? ”
He gets a snort as an answer. The small ceiling lamp above their seats has been turned on and everything has a pale, orange glow to it. When Remus lowers his book to face him, it all looks very soft. Cosy. Intimate . He's put on one of his ancient de-coloured wool jumpers and his hair still looks messy with statics. He's smirking.
" Late. You passed out for, like, one hour and a half. "
Passed out does sound like the accurate verb to use. Regulus can feel a headache creeping its way behind his eyeballs, it is not pleasant and if he waits more than five minutes without acting on it, he knows the rest of the ride is going to be hell. I need to get up . Getting up he does- for about eight seconds before knocking his head against the luggage shelf above him. For a second, the tiny leaves knitted on Remus' pullover seem to dance, green and blurry little sparkles going round his head.
He lets himself drop back in his seat with a groan. Eyes closed, he croaks :
" Please don't say anything. "
And, surprisingly, the other does stay silent. Then all he can hear is the noise of a bag being zipped, followed by slight rustling. So he fell asleep while Remus was talking to him, slept for more than an hour , woke up looking like a squashed rat and his head now hurts because he apparently can’t do anything not embarrassing today. He opens his eyes just in time to see Remus take out his water bottle. He's holding it up by the cap and making it dangle in front of Regulus' nose, like a pendulum swinging to make fun of him and his pathetic state. He decides to ignore the clear mocking look on Remus’ face and just grabs the bottle. Might as well not die of dehydration on top of everything .
When he gives it back, it's empty, and Remus is barely trying to hide his smile anymore. Regulus feels his cheek heat up a little too quickly when their fingers brush and it’s really all it takes for him to mumble :
“ I’m going for a walk. Need to stretch my legs. ”
Remus nods, eyes a little wide, and Regulus is out of his seat in no time, managing to not bump into anything in the process this time.
Not many faces raise to look at him as he walks along the carriage. It's dark. Except for a few smartphones glimmering blue light at tired eyes, Regulus can't see much. Several seats are empty and most remaining passengers asleep, or pretending to be. Or passed out against their will with a promised migraine later . Bags, suitcases and discarded shoes keep appearing where Regulus wants to walk. It just feels personal. Some higher scheming against his very self and need for nicotine during hard times. It's all starting to seem closer to an obstacle course and farther from getting to the exit doors so I can bloody breathe. He spans over unidentified masses on the carpeted floor, fingers toying with his trousers’ pockets' content ; he's trying not to sigh too loudly, but the urge is very much there. The packet must have suffered a bit during his impromptu nap, he can feel crumbled tobacco under his nails.
The doors are finally in sight when he spots a dog on the floor, avoids stepping on one of its paws by an inch. Squinting down, the animal somewhat looks like Sirius' puppy, only older- well, at least bigger. Black fur, a large and fuzzy frame with pointy ears. Most likely a specific breed that Regulus is forgetting about. Maybe choosing to forget about.
His brother adopted Padfoot about a year ago and has been sending daily pictures of, to quote him, “ he and James’ child ” ever since. It's all very sweet, all a bit gagging, how much the two of them breathe happiness and settlement. At least it’s a topic he knows he can complain about with Remus without feeling like the bitter arsehole he honestly is when it comes to romance. He makes a mental note of it- a possible conversation starter for later.
The puppy's looking up at him, snout curious and wet. A tad gross, mostly adorable.
He's half-way into deciding to take a photo of this fluffy lookalike when the old lady sitting next to the dog clears her throat and shoots him a suspicious look. She's frowning at him from below, sleep mask pinched between two manicured fingers very much screaming : " Don't you even dare. " .
Retreat, retreat . He really needs a smoke anyway.
Regulus starts walking again, speeds up his steps. Padfoot-twin and rude-looking woman now behind him, the train's doors slide open. He steps down onto the platform with a sigh and the doors' hinges answer with a whiny clank. Finally .
There's still no one in sight apart from a dusty clock hanging on the brick wall in front of him, tic-tic-ing quarter past eleven. The night is warmer out, slight breeze on his skin and in his lungs. He inhales long and deep and his head almost feels better already. Hands still in his pockets, he strides across the concrete, towards the nearest bench. He’s not sure why he feels like sitting down after several hours of riding a train, but his attention promptly switches to something else. Where the fuck is his
lighter ? It’s not where it should be, not where Regulus always puts it. This is bad.
He knows his current journey-companion doesn’t care in the slightest about his way of life. But Sirius definitely does. The fucker loves to involve himself in matters he has nothing to do with. And as much as Regulus trusts Remus, he remains his brother’s best friend. He’s not taking any risks ; the post-smoking smell will be exposing enough.
He’s also not looking forward to passing by any more grumpy passengers. He won’t be stepping back onto that train until it’s urgently necessary.
Problem is, a few drags off a cigarette does feel just as urgently necessary right now. Trousers offer only so many places to check for lost objects and Regulus is starting to feel a little ridiculous, hopes no one from the train is looking at him going through his pockets like a madman. He’s in the process of reducing an old shop receipt to shreds while chewing on his cheek when a sudden noise makes his head snap up. A man is walking out the train, a bag on his shoulder.
Now, Regulus would obviously not wish addiction upon anyone. But if this random guy happened to be a smoker, well, it wouldn't not be convenient. If Regulus’ fingers are crossed as he watches the man make his way across the platform and lean against the nearest streetlamp, it’s no one’s business. And if he thanks his guardian star when said man pulls out rolling paper out of his bag, it certainly isn’t anyone’s business either. His moral compass isn’t quite the priority right now.
Bag at his feet and looking down at his phone, the man now has a rolled, lit cigarette in his mouth. The smoke around him seems way too eager to drift specifically towards Regulus and his indisposition. It’s swirling and tickling right into his nostrils, all the way to his lungs and brain and fuck, passive smoking has no business feeling this miserable. He’s everything but in the mood for a conversation with hell-knows-who in hell-knows-where. Unfortunately, his lighter still hasn't materialised in his pocket. Tiny bits of flesh are starting to peel from his cheek, teeth sinking a little too deep, eyes gazing a little too creepily at the stranger.
The train is leaving again in less than ten minutes and once he'll be on board, he will be for one hour and a half minimum before finally getting to their final stop.
After a deep, silent breath, he adjusts his posture and walks up to the man.
He hasn't even thought about what or how to ask yet- if he did, he would still be overthinking it right now. He gets closer and the bloke looks up with a friendly face :
" You alright ? "
And no, definitely not , but this is a crisis type of mission and even if he intends on getting it done quickly, politeness shall remain. As he gives the other man a quick smile and a nod, Regulus lifts two fingers, holding his cigarette next to his eyes.
" Forgot my lighter. Do you mind if I borrow yours ? "
The guy - “ Name’s Sturgis, here you go mate. ” - does not mind and Regulus closes his hand on a bright pink, “ I love Paris ” match box. What the hell. What kind of smug fuck uses matches these days ? Well, fire is fire .
“ Thanks. ”
He’s onto his second smoke and up-tenth nod to Sturgis and his persistent small talk when the station’s speakers above their heads make them both jump. It’s the lovely, robotic announcement voice echoing about the imminent train departure. Regulus would rather finish his smoke before hopping back on the vehicle, but the doors are already beep-beep-ing and if anything, it does play as a perfect escape from the awkward conversation he’s currently stuck in.
*
Regulus doesn’t consider himself naive, nor particularly optimistic and even less the trusting kind. He is trying hard to make sense of what exactly are Sturgis' intentions right now. They’re both back in the train, walking along the corridors towards their respective seats. At least that’s what Regulus assumes they’re doing. The other man has been trailing behind him for what feels a little too long considering the current setting. He’s still rambling about whatever he’s been rambling about since the matches situation and Regulus is tempted to simply abandon any politeness, to tell the guy to shut it and leave him alone. Hoping to return to his seat alone, as he left it , shouldn’t be too much to ask for.
But before he can make up his mind whether to open hostilities or not, he finds himself already inside their carriage, a few seats away from Remus’ . The latter seems to notice his gaze from where he is, shoots him a look and a small smile from behind the backrest. Regulus makes his way to him, choosing to ignore who’s still very much walking behind him. Remus closes his book on one of his fingers, gets up to let him access the window seat. They’re face to face and Remus grins, hums a “ Hey ” . Regulus is about to greet him back, say a little something hopefully not too awkward, smile a normal smile– but before he can do anything, another voice exclaims “ Remus ?! ”
It’s the same voice he’s been trying to tune out for the last half hour. It’s the same irritating face grinning its irritating grin, this time directed at Remus. Regulus might just throw up at the way Sturgis is looking at him– with something crooked in it. All he can do is sink into his seat with horror as the two men start to chat and completely ignore his presence. He’d shapeshift into the ceiling if he could, anything to be able not to hear a word from their conversation. He does not need, does not want to know about Remus’ dating history, especially not if said history includes the other moron. What kind of personalised hell is this ? Remus is still standing in the train’s corridor, smiling like he’s talking to someone he cares about ; with his hands busy playing with his necklaces like he does when he’s giddy . He looks too, too pretty to exist in the same space as damn Sturgis. The latter has his arm close to Remus’ and when the train slightly jolts, he’s unnecessarily quick to grab it and breathe a “ Careful, there. ” . Sickening .
After what feels like hours of desperately staring down at his book and enduring this curse, Regulus hears the man say something about going to buy a snack, and does Remus want anything ? The answer is no, thank fucking god, and he’s finally walking away.
As Remus sits back next to him, Regulus hopes the guy intends on eating in the snacks area. He also hopes a long line of hungry passengers awaits him there. Surely, there are other people craving vending-machine sandwiches around midnight. There better be. He really needs his peace back. The wagon’s doors close behind the man and Regulus turns to ask Remus who the hell was that ? But– abstains. The other already has his eyes focused on the page he left earlier. Before the git intruded. Because it was intruding. Who even approaches a random passenger on a night train ? Insane people, most definitely.
Remus didn't seem particularly annoyed by it, but he is a very polite individual to strangers. Which the guy wasn't. But again, Remus is just polite like that. Fuck, what are the odds of stumbling upon one of your exes in a train, anyway ? In the middle of hell-knows-where, on top of it all ? Why does he seem unphased by that ?
Regulus' mind is rotating petty question after petty question and he's still pretending to be absorbed by the essay in his hands. He wonders when was the last time he turned a page. Probably a bit too long ago to be convincing. Not that Remus seems to care or notice anything, he still is focused on the damn words, holding up his own book with one hand while the other fidgets with the next page.
On each of his nails shine tiny star-shaped stickers. Regulus noticed them earlier but still can't tell if they’re gold coloured or if the warm light is just reflecting on silver. He stares at the stars on Remus' fingers and thinks that maybe he'd like it to be silver . Both colours suit the man always but the wicked, ugly creature stuck inside Regulus' heart keeps reminding him of how they would match if it was silver. Silver on silver, hand in hand. For the love of anything, please stop thinking about it.
He's been wearing silver rings himself since he first stole one from his mother more than a decade ago, then never stopped. Sirius claims it's the Blacks' colour palette, the up-tenth way of his little brother choosing to keep the stick up his ass and other endearing statements. Regulus really just likes the shade of it. A shade open to other shades, host to any spark of colours winking its light around.
Remus' fingers are slightly twitching and the stars' flickers are starting to lull Regulus back to sleep. Which he doesn't want to fall for again ; his migraine almost came back full force when the ex-boyfriend arrived earlier. Enough headache for today.
His study of Remus' hands and side profile must be less discreet than he intends it to be, because the latter looks up to stare back. And doesn't stop . Regulus averts his gaze, mumbles :
“ Kind of creepy, Lupin.
Lupin scoffs softly.
- Well, at least I don't pretend not to be.
- I don't know what you're talking about. ”
Regulus sniffles, with that so uniquely snobby way of his, and Remus' book's pages rustle and then it's silent again. Well, as silent as a train full of people can be.
Someone's snoring a few seats up the carriage. A bag of chips sounds like it's being opened. It's too dark out to distinguish anything through the window and Regulus wonders how long they can go without crossing any street lamps. The French countryside truly is something. He's keeping his mind and eyes resolutely fixed on anything but Remus and his pretty, annoying aura. Enough smirks and teasing remarks for today, he thinks. His heart and dignity can not bear any more sappy flutters.
Regulus resigns himself to resume reading his own book. Something about Ancient Egypt taxidermy, lent by Evan earlier in June, which he should definitely return soon if he's determined to remain in one piece.
Less than half a chapter later, just when he’s starting to actually focus on the sentences below his eyes, noise makes his head tilt up. If he managed not to wake up too many passengers while walking out of the train earlier, whoever's making their way along the carriage just ruined all his efforts. Regulus hopes the dog’s sour old lady gives the disruptor one of her murderous looks.
His eyes catch movement on his right and when he looks up, the disruptor seems to settle for one of the two empty seats next to Remus and his. Of bloody course .
Of course it’s Sturgis, back with his stupid snacks and stupid face. Of course he’s making unnecessary stupid sounds with his paper bag and of course he’s about to eat his stinky tuna sandwich right here and then.
Regulus winces as he tries, yet again, to redirect his attention to his book. He absolutely refuses to grace the man with a single look, be it of pure disdain. But if nose wrinkling could kill, the other arsehole would definitely not be so alive right now. He’d be feeling sorry for his behaviour and choice of sandwich and maybe even choking on said sandw-
“ Hey, got this for you. I assume you do still love chocolate ? ”
Regulus’ head snaps up. Sturgis just spoke with a mouth full of food, left hand extended across the train’s passageway. He’s holding a candy bar, brandishing the damn thing to a confused-looking Remus.
Turning a page of his essay, Regulus barely represses his scoff. Everyone who knows Remus- actually knows him, is aware that he prefers dark chocolate over any other kind. Milk chocolate can be tolerable if hungry enough, but white chocolate ? He's never going to bite into that thing.
He bites into the thing. He says thanks , takes the chocolate and tears the packaging open. Then bites into it.
Regulus doesn’t watch but can swear he hears a smile in Remus’ thanks . It’s followed by Sturgis' up tenth “ Oh, by the way– ” and now the both of them are chatting like they’ve known each-other forever. Which is maybe slightly the case, exes-situation considered, but unquestionably not a reason for such blatant flirting. This is a public space . Regulus is marinating in his resentment, frowning as he listens to their conversation. Forced to hear their giggles , as well as the crunchy sounds of the damn chocolate bar. He wants to gnaw Sturgis' head off ; to make it crunch instead. Make him swallow his stupid candy through his exposed oesophagus. Or whatever . Squinting down at the printed picture of a mummified cat inside his book, Regulus tries to imagine how he’d proceed to mummify the nuisance on his right.
He may be overreacting, but in his mind only ; and containing his irritation towards people who deserve it has never been one of his natural talents.
The fact that he’s conscious about the ridicule of the situation is only making it worse . In a desperate attempt at regaining rationality, he tries to remember one of his best friend’s relaxing methods. Eyes closed ; breathe in for five seconds, hold for three, breathe out for five again. In, hold, out–
“ So, you did say you’re single, right ? ”
And maybe Pandora’s breathing method actually worked for a bit, because when Regulus opens his eyes to glance at Remus -and shoot daggers at the other dumbass in the process, he looks everything but in the affable mood he seemed to be in earlier. No smile, and hardly looking at Sturgis. With shameful satisfaction, Regulus spots the candy bar, squeezed in Remus’ hands while his fingers fidget with the plastic wrapper. Half-eaten . Of course he didn’t finish this joke of a candy .
As for Sturgis, he’s definitely done with his own snack. But all things considered, Regulus would take back the horrid tuna smell anytime, instead of what is now coming out of the guy’s mouth : horrid pick-up lines. Accompanied by many questions and painful joke attempts. Everything met by Remus’ polite nods and occasional humming. Sturgis doesn’t seem to notice anything, though. Or is choosing to ignore the very much obvious cues. He’s carrying on with his never-ending chatter and Regulus is almost impressed by how little self-awareness the man seems to possess.
He’s himself starting to lack self-control. The whole situation certainly isn’t his problem ; he’d have zero reason to intervene if it wasn’t happening right next to him . But it is, and he’d bet that anyone who’s awake right now is as troubled by Sturgis' behaviour as he is. Getting him to pipe down would be community service, really. And like Sirius loves to remind him, he’s a very good citizen.
Before he can put more thoughts into this, Regulus is standing up.
And Sturgis’ sentence dies right in his mouth. He blinks, then he’s staring ; mouth so round it looks like a third eye trying to emerge from his face. The global image looks more cartoonish than not, looks quite awkward.
If anyone asked Regulus what he just spat out, he wouldn’t be able to answer. He’s too busy savouring the way Sturgis is struggling to his feet, trying to collect his plastic wrappers as well as his dignity and leaving .
*
They’re all on the platform, walking towards James and Sirius’ car. The both of them were waiting right in front of the carriage door and now Padfoot is trotting along Regulus as the latter carries Remus’ bags. Sirius has the little dog on a loose leash and a big smile on his face. Remus is walking a few steps ahead, talking to a very excited sounding James about–
A loud bark makes them all jump. It’s followed by Sirius’ scolding “ Calm down, Padfoot ! ” , while he tries to keep the animal close to him. But Padfoot is now growling and pulling on his leash, seemingly trying to get to a passer-by on their right. The man turns around and doesn’t look particularly startled but as soon as his eyes land on Regulus, he instantly turns back around. Padfoot seems very pleased as they watch him hurry away, and Regulus thinks he might be growing fond of this dog already. An ally against terrible train encounters .
They’re now in the car and have an hour of ride ahead of them, but it’s quite completely different from the ride Regulus endured minutes ago. This time, he knows he won’t be disturbed by anything but his brother and his friends’ happy chatter. The temperature is bearable , but most importantly : he can feel Remus’ cheek resting on his shoulder, curls tickling his neck. Maybe he’s also feeling his heart beat a little faster than it should be, but maybe it doesn’t feel so terrifying after all.
He catches Sirius’ glare in the rear-view mirror and his brother shoots him two raised eyebrows, followed by a silent but definitely mischievous “ Doing alright ? ” . Regulus doesn’t react, ignores his cretin of a brother and his insinuations. He lets his own head gently fall against Remus’ and as he drifts off, lets himself admit that maybe, this whole fête thing won’t be so terrible.
The car passes under a streetlamp and just before his eyes close, Regulus’ catch a tiny flash of sparkles. It’s Remus’ nails, and they’re definitely silver.