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Chapter Text

Regulus exhales, adjusting his collar as he steps off the lift onto the Daily Prophet’s editorial floor, a chaotic yet glamorous hive of activity. The soft hum of conversations blends with the crisp click of heels on polished marble, creating an atmosphere that’s equal parts newsroom and runway. Screens flicker with breaking headlines, and glossy covers of last month’s best issues line the walls like trophies.

Glancing at his reflection in a glass partition, Regulus straightens his already immaculate silk shirt—sharp, baby blue, perfectly tailored, with subtle silver cufflinks catching the light, a final touch that says effortless.

He makes his way to the break room, a velvet-draped enclave tucked away from prying eyes, where the scent of perfume mingles with the occasional whiff of freshly brewed coffee. He doesn’t even have to look to know who’s there; he spots a flash of red hair and a tailored blazer in an electric crimson hue. There, perched on the lilac sofa like she’s holding court, sits Lily.

She spots him instantly, waving him over with a sense of urgency that only Lily could make look chic. “Reg! Took you long enough. Were you strutting through the hallway hoping someone would stop you for an autograph?”

Regulus raises a brow. “I’d hate to break the hearts of my fans by rushing.”

Lily smirks, patting the space next to her on the sofa. “Well, before you go signing autographs, you’ve got a bigger fan waiting. Rita’s looking for you, and let’s just say she’s in a mood.”

Regulus rolls his eyes as he sits, crossing one leg over the other with an air of practised cool. “Isn’t she always? Last week she was livid because my column was, and I quote, ‘too restrained.’ And the week before that, it was ‘too flamboyant.’”

Lily snorts, tossing her red hair back. “‘Restrained’ and ‘flamboyant’ in the same breath? I’d be impressed if I weren’t exhausted.”

“Exhausted or jealous?”

“Oh, please,” she huffs. “I could write something better in my sleep—if I actually slept. But Rita wants a meeting about this… I’d bring a shield.”

Regulus chuckles, shaking his head. “Perhaps I should. But only if it matches my outfit.”

Lily snaps her fingers. “Now you’re thinking like a true Prophet star! Anyway, on another note—have you seen Mary? She’s gone MIA. Didn’t show up this morning, and she’s not answering my calls.”

Regulus frowns, his lighthearted demeanour shifting. “She didn’t get back to me either. She mentioned that date the other night, though—with Peter, wasn’t it?”

“That timid little thing she met at that gallery? I swear, if he dragged her to some dingy jazz club and she’s been listening to his favourite saxophonist for forty-eight hours straight, I will personally end him.”

“It’s not exactly kidnapping, Lily. Although…” Regulus pauses thoughtfully, “maybe I should check on her. You know how she can get… distracted.”

“Yes, but distracted with him? Poor Mary deserves better. I mean, really, all we need is another tragic love story. But go—get her. You’re the only one she actually listens to, somehow.”

Regulus stands, smoothing down his shirt one last time. “I’ll go save her from her fate, then. But only if you promise to tell Rita I could be five—no, ten —minutes late to our showdown.”

“Make it twenty,” Lily says with a wicked grin. “Trust me, I can keep her busy.”

Regulus nods, flashing her a smile. “Knew I could count on you, Lils. Don’t go too hard on her. At least not until I’m there to enjoy it.”

Lily winks. “No promises, darling. Go play hero.”

༻༺

Regulus manoeuvres through the rain-soaked streets of London, the familiar hum of the city blurring around him as he pulls up outside Mary’s building—a red-brick townhouse in Bloomsbury, cosy yet dignified. His knuckles barely brush the door when it swings open, revealing Mary, who’s a heartbreakingly raw version of herself: face flushed and blotchy, eyes swollen, her hand clutching a crumpled handkerchief like a lifeline.

“Mary—” he starts, but she doesn’t give him the chance. She grabs his sleeve, practically yanking him inside and closing the door with a force that echoes through the quiet hallway.

Once they reach the small, warmly lit living room, Mary sinks onto the sofa, covering her face with both hands. Regulus takes a tentative seat beside her, watching as her shoulders shudder with each sob. He's used to Mary with quick wit and endless energy; seeing her like this knots his chest with a mixture of anger and helplessness.

“Mary… what happened?”

She takes a shaky breath, finally pulling the handkerchief away. Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “It’s Peter. He… he just left me.”

Regulus frowns, tilting his head. “Left?” He tries to process, leaning in slightly. “But I thought… you had a date?”

“We did,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Dinner. And then we… spent the night together.” Her voice cracks, but she pushes on, though every word seems to hurt. “Everything was fine. He kissed me goodnight, he—he was there, Reg,” she presses the handkerchief to her lips. “And then, this morning, he got up, got dressed, and just… said it wouldn’t work. Said my behaviour didn’t suit him.”

“Your behaviour? What could he possibly mean?”

“He said I was… clingy.” The word seems to physically wound Mary as she says it, and she looks away, blinking back more tears. “I made us coffee and asked if he wanted breakfast. I thought… I thought that’s what you do when you like someone.”

“And for that, he just… ended it? Left, without so much as a proper explanation?”

Mary nods, and her face crumples. “I thought I’d finally met someone who cared. And he just… he made me feel like an inconvenience.”

Regulus shifts closer, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mary, he’s not worth this,” he says, his voice warm, a lifeline in itself. “Anyone who can’t see how incredible you are, how lucky they’d be to have you in their life, isn’t worth a second thought.”

She manages a weak smile, though it’s shadowed by pain. “You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”

Regulus gives a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. And because I’ve met a dozen Peters—men who think the world revolves around them, who vanish the second they get bored or scared.” His hand squeezes Mary’s shoulder in quiet reassurance. “He doesn’t deserve another minute of your tears.”

She sniffles, seeming to settle a bit in his calm presence. “You’re right. You’re completely right.” She pauses, then glances at him with a hint of humour breaking through her sadness. “But you’d say anything to cheer me up, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” Regulus smirks, feigning offence. “I only tell the truth. If you weren’t incredible, trust me, I wouldn’t be wasting my morning here.”

Finally, a real laugh escapes Mary, and she leans her head on his shoulder, letting her tears dry in the comfortable silence.

After a moment, Regulus breaks it with a sigh, glancing around her familiar, cosy flat.

“Though I must admit,” he adds with a sly glint, “it’s tempting to make a certain ex-boyfriend of yours feel equally inconvenient… maybe a poorly timed run-in with a door?”

Mary laughs again, the sound lighter now. “You’re terrible.”

“Only when necessary,” Regulus replies, squeezing her hand. "And I’m serious—next time, let me vet them. It’s clear I can spot a red flag better than you.”

With that, Mary laughs again.

Then, another moment passes. Regulus sighs, watching Mary’ tears start up again, her shoulders shaking as she stares down at the handkerchief crumpled in her lap. He gives her a soft, almost affectionate eye roll before clearing his throat with a firm edge.

“All right, that’s enough. No more falling apart. Lily’s waiting for you at the office, and she’s not the type to take ‘I’m too heartbroken to show up’ for an answer.”

Mary sniffles and looks up at him, eyes bleary. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going back to that office, or anywhere else, for that matter. I’ll stay here and, I don’t know… wither.” She huffs and crosses her arms in a dramatic display of defeat. “I’ll never step outside again.”

Regulus’ mouth twitches into a smirk. “Yes, well, you can ‘wither’ on your own time. Because if you don’t show up today, Rita will fire you before you even finish crying over that pathetic excuse of a man.” He crosses to her wardrobe, pulling open the doors and inspecting the options with a calculating gaze. “Now, let’s see…” He pulls a few pieces from the hanger. “If you’re going to show up after all this, you might as well look fantastic.”

Mary, still sniffling, buries her head in her hands. “I don’t care. I don’t even want to look fantastic.”

“Oh, you don’t care?” Regulus scoffs, holding up a sleek black mini skirt in one hand and a fitted, silk white blouse with dramatic cuffs in the other, his brows raised in a silent dare. “I’m sure Lily would be devastated to hear that, since she’s the one who got you this blouse in the first place.”

He adds a pair of delicate silver earrings and some sleek black heels to the mix. “Perfect. It’s giving ‘I’m hot, I’m unattainable, and you will regret every last moment you spent undervaluing me.’”

Without further ceremony, Regulus plops down beside Mary, taking her foot and slipping the first sheer stocking onto her foot.

“Hold still,” he commands, his tone half-mocking. As he carefully slides the fabric up her calf, she sniffles dramatically.

“Reg, I’m still devastated,” Mary whimpers, though she doesn’t resist.

“Devastated?” he repeats, glancing up at her with an arched brow. “No, Mary. He should be devastated. And I assure you, he will be. Once he sees what he threw away, he’ll be crying into his pint glass.” Regulus pauses, smirking as he slides the other stocking on. “But only if you stop crying first.”

When Mary doesn’t answer, he gives her a quick, light smack on the ankle, adding with a smirk. “You hear me? Pull yourself together. Peter isn’t worth smudging mascara over, much less tears.”

Mary gives a small, reluctant nod, watching him as he continues to dress her with gentle efficiency, buttoning the blouse and fastening the silver earrings with a quiet, practised care.

As Regulus slips on her heels, he huffs. “Besides, I’ve had a long enough morning of my own. Apparently, my last article was too dull for Rita’s liking. Said it needed ‘pizazz’.” His tone drips with mock disdain as he brushes a wrinkle from Mary’s skirt, his fingers lingering to make sure it’s absolutely perfect.

Mary’s face shifts, her usual fire beginning to rekindle. “A mean bitch, that’s who she is,” she mutters, dabbing the last tear away. “You write better than anyone else in that office, and she’s too dense to see it.”

“Exactly,” Regulus replies smoothly, giving her an approving nod. “Now, can we please get to the office so I can watch her give you that same grief?”

Mary finally laughs—a short, genuine sound that feels like a victory in itself.

“Fine,” she relents. “But you owe me lunch.”

Regulus stands back, appraising Mary’s newly assembled outfit with an approving tilt of his head.

“You know, you look so good right now, I might have to insist on a full café tour,” he says, smirking. “I’ll buy you every cake in the place.”

Mary’s eyes widen, a glimmer of excitement brightening her tear-streaked face.

“Every cake? Now you’re speaking my language.”

Without warning, she throws her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce hug, squeezing him tightly like she might never let go.

For a moment, they just stand there, cocooned in each other’s warmth, her grip so fierce that Regulus has to catch his breath. Then, with a sniff, Mary mutters, “You know, I like you more than I like your brother.”

Regulus snorts softly, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Of course you do. After all, you did try to kiss Sirius that one time at my birthday party.” He raises a brow, feigning scandal. “Pity you didn’t know he was already pining after Remus by then.”

Mary gasps, pulling back just enough to swat him on the shoulder, her cheeks flushing. “I knew you’d bring that up one day!”

Regulus grins, dodging her next playful smack. “Oh, I’m just here for the drama. Now, are you finally ready to face the world again?”

Mary rolls her eyes, but the fire in them is unmistakably back. “Ready,” she says, with a wry smile. “Lead the way, my hero. And don’t forget about those cakes.”

As they step into the bustling office, with the scent of espresso and new magazines in the air, Regulus and Mary are met by Lily striding purposefully across the floor, her notepad clutched in one hand. Her red hair frames her face perfectly, every strand in place as she moves with the brisk elegance that only Lily can pull off.

“There you are! Rita’s pulling everyone into the conference room in ten minutes,” she announces, her green eyes sharp with urgency. Regulus lets out a theatrical sigh, muttering something about how ten minutes is hardly enough time to “save a career,” but Lily is already turning her full attention to Mary, her face softening.

“Oh, darling,” she murmurs, dropping her notepad onto the nearest table to take her friend’s face gently in her hands. She tilts Mary’s chin up, examining her with a look that’s both sympathetic and mildly horrified. “You look like you’ve just been through all seven circles of hell.”

Mary’s shoulders sag, and a fresh round of tears threatens as she stares down at the floor, biting her lip.

“It’s… I just… Peter,” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hand twists a crumpled tissue, a forlorn reminder of the one date with Peter that she had somehow managed to build into a full-blown romance in her mind.

Lily’s gaze snaps to Regulus, her eyes widening slightly in a silent question. 

Regulus is ready to respond, rolling his eyes as if to say, Yes, just one date, but Mary’s voice cracks and she hunches, clutching her tissue like it’s the only thing holding her together.

“We… we even talked about maybe going to Tuscany,” she says, voice choked with emotion. “One date, and he seemed so… so serious.”

Lily startles slightly, her hands slipping from Mary’s face as she blinks in surprise. “Oh, love…” she starts, but it’s clear she’s struggling to find the right words. The sheer absurdity of it is apparent, but the heartbreak in Mary’s eyes tempers her reaction.

Regulus sighs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He catches Lily’s eye and nods toward the lounge area where they’ll be holding the meeting, subtly suggesting they start making their way there. The rest of the staff is already gathering, and Rita is notoriously punctual. Besides, the middle of the office is hardly the place for this brand of heartbreak.

Lily gives him a grateful look and slips an arm around Mary’s shoulders, gently guiding her down the hallway.

“Come on,” she says softly. “Rita’s waiting, and you know how she is. You don’t want her taking this as an excuse to lecture you on professional boundaries, do you?”

Mary lets out a small, despairing laugh. “No… I suppose not.” But her eyes are still glassy, her mind likely replaying every detail of that single, fateful date.

Regulus falls into step beside them, his gaze sweeping over the office as they move. Sleek desks scattered with fashion spreads, a wall of framed covers from past issues, and the constant hum of typing and low conversation create a unique blend of luxury and business. The Daily Prophet ’s workspace is as curated as its pages: stylish, high-stakes, and just a bit ruthless.

Regulus knows he’s ready for the meeting. But inwardly, there’s only one thought on repeat: It’s going to be a shitshow.

“Let the games begin,” he mutters to himself with a wry smile before meeting Lily’s gaze as she glances back, her hand giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be fine,” she says, with that sly grin that really means, nothing’s going to be fine, but we’ll survive.

In one swift motion, the three of them step into the lounge, prepared to face whatever storm Rita has waiting for them.

༻༺

James sits with barely concealed irritation in the opulent leather armchair opposite Minerva’s mahogany desk, his jaw clenched tightly as he watches her with steely focus.

The office, a space as timeless and meticulously curated as its owner, is bathed in afternoon sunlight, casting a soft glow across the collection of framed accolades lining the walls. Horcrux Diamond’s signature logo—a faceted diamond with a crimson “H”—stands proudly etched into the wall behind Minerva, a constant reminder of the legacy James has been working tirelessly to secure his place in.

Seated to his right, with expressions of casual amusement, are Rabastan and Rodolphus. Rabastan leans back in his chair, fingers laced together as he watches James with a barely hidden smirk, while Rodolphus looks on with a faint, almost pitying smile. Both are dressed impeccably in fitted suits, every detail of their appearances polished to perfection—a little too perfect, James thinks, as if their entire identity is sculpted around the brand itself.

Minerva shifts, folding her hands in front of her with that aura of authority she wields so effortlessly.

“James,” she begins, her tone patient but firm, “you’re passionate, and you’ve proven your skills time and again. But the Lestranges have presented a very compelling pitch for this campaign. Their approach is innovative. Exactly what we need right now.”

James feels his jaw tighten, irritation sparking through him. He’s been working tirelessly at Horcrux Diamond, building up his reputation, mastering every nuance of the brand. And now, after all that effort, the Lestranges are breezing in with their self-assured smiles and glossy presentations, ready to snatch away everything he’s fought for.

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Minerva, with all respect, a polished presentation is one thing. But understanding our clients, what really resonates with them, is something else. I know what Horcrux Diamond needs because I know our audience. I know what makes them want to own a piece of this brand.”

Rodolphus scoffs, leaning forward with a glint of condescension in his eyes. “Oh, please, James. You think you’re the only one who understands the luxury market? We’ve been managing high-end accounts for years.”

Rabastan nods, adding with a voice equally slick. “The Horcrux Diamond name is synonymous with allure. You don’t sell a diamond by appealing to emotions, Potter. You sell it by creating a dream, by promising something untouchable. That’s what clients pay for.”

James’ fists clench, his knuckles whitening as he holds back a retort. Instead, he takes a steadying breath and turns.

“Minerva, I’ve been with Horcrux for years, working on campaigns that drive real connection. This brand is about legacy, about creating something that matters. Rabastan and Rodolphus can talk about allure all day, but they don’t understand the emotional core of this brand.”

“Sentimental nonsense, Potter.” Rabastan snorts. “No one buys a diamond because they want to ‘connect’ with it. They buy it because it makes a statement. Emotions have nothing to do with it.”

James grits his teeth, turning back to Minerva, hoping she sees his point. Her eyes are narrowed, her expression thoughtful as she regards him. He can see the conflict there, the hint of intrigue mingling with hesitation. She picks up the campaign folder from her desk, tapping it lightly against the polished wood as if weighing her options.

She finally lets out a long, slow breath, setting the folder down with a soft thud. “James, I understand where you’re coming from. But the fact is, the Lestranges have demonstrated a strong grasp of high-end branding, a perspective that could push the company to new heights.”

“An understanding? Minerva, I have lived and breathed this brand since I started here. I’ve poured myself into campaigns that resonate with real people. The Lestranges might be experts at glossy ad campaigns, but they don’t get the heart of it. They don’t get that a Horcrux Diamond isn’t just bought. It’s remembered.”

Rabastan leans forward, fingers tapping idly on the armrest. “Face it, Potter. The world doesn’t want some romanticised vision of diamonds. They want luxury and sophistication.” He grins, his voice a lazy drawl. “Which, I might add, isn’t exactly something you have a natural affinity for.”

“Sophistication?” James sits up straighter, his fingers tapping restlessly against the chair. “The world of diamonds is about more than just glitz and glamour. People don’t invest in a Horcrux piece just for the sparkle; they invest in memories. In a story they can feel part of.” He fixes his gaze on Minerva, willing her to see his point. “And I know exactly how to give them that.”

Minerva’s expression shifts, a touch of annoyance crossing her features as she studies him with a glint of curiosity. “James, you say you understand the heart of the brand. But so far, I’m only hearing words.”

“What would you like to see then, Minerva?”

“Well, since you believe you have such a unique insight into our clients, prove it.” She leans forward, her voice dropping to a serious, almost challenging tone. “The Charity Gala we’re hosting to unveil the new campaign is in ten days. Show me that you understand what resonates with our audience by bringing someone who is genuinely enamoured with you, someone who represents the kind of loyal client we value here.”

“So, what you’re saying,” James begins, tone cautious, “is that I need to find someone—anyone—and make them fall in love with me? In ten days?”

“Not just anyone, James. The one who represents what this brand is all about. A person who would be drawn to Horcrux Diamond, not just because of the allure but because of the deeper value they find in it. Convince me that you know how to sell an experience that’s lasting.”

Rodolphus chuckles, his gaze flicking between James and Minerva. “Is this really necessary, Minerva? Turning a sales campaign into a romance experiment? We could save time and have this locked down in less than a week.”

Minerva raises a hand, silencing him with a pointed look. “James insists he understands the heart of this brand. I think it’s only fair he gets the chance to prove it.”

She turns back to James, her expression impassive but her eyes gleaming with a trace of amusement. “Do we have an agreement, Potter?”

James squares his shoulders. “We do,” His gaze shifts briefly to the Lestrange brothers, his lips curling in a faint, confident smirk. “In ten days, I’ll have someone with me at that Gala. Someone who knows exactly why memories and emotions matter.”

Rodolphus lets out a low, incredulous laugh, glancing at Rabastan. “Best of luck with that, Potter. Not everyone’s quite so willing to fall for… let’s call it sentimentality.”

James ignores them and nods, rising from his seat, giving Minerva a final, triumphant smirk. The Lestranges may have the polish, but he has the passion—and if there’s one thing James Potter knows how to do, it’s win when the odds are against him.

༻༺

The lounge is as unorthodox as ever—a fusion of bohemian chaos and high fashion. The lingering scent of sandalwood fills the room, punctuated by the faint tick-tick of a novelty clock shaped like a peacock. 

Rita has insisted, as usual, that everyone leave their shoes at the door—a rule Regulus finds irritatingly affected but now obeys without question, slipping off his sleek leather loafers before taking a seat.

Just as the murmurs begin to die down, Rita herself, always in the spirit of grandeur, glides into the lounge as if she’s about to accept an award, every bit the diva in her emerald-green power suit, the leopard-print scarf wrapped artfully around her neck. Her blond curls bounce with each step, perfectly coiffed and intimidatingly vibrant. She pauses in the doorway, letting her gaze sweep over the room, her eyes narrowing slightly as they land on Mary’s teary face.

Regulus settles into the couch, crossing his arms and fixing his gaze on the tacky chandelier hanging overhead. He can almost feel Lily’s supportive glance from across the room.

Next to him, Mary is huddled in on herself, her gaze fixed downward, her breath coming in unsteady little shudders as she tries to keep her composure. He feels a flicker of irritation on her behalf, knowing how Rita thrives on weakness, especially when it’s so public.

Rita clears her throat, sweeping a dramatic hand to silence the scattered murmurs, and begins settling in her armchair.

“Now, family, before we discuss new assignments, let’s address last month’s features.” Her gaze lands squarely on Regulus, a glint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Regulus.” She says, her tone syrupy-sweet, “your piece on building your perfect morning routine was… charming. But unfortunately, it appears our audience didn’t find it as engaging as expected. The response was—shall we say—tepid at best.”

There’s a slight pause, filled with the sounds of barely suppressed snickers from a few colleagues. Regulus feels his jaw tighten, his fingers curling into his palms. He meets her gaze evenly, keeping his face impassive, even as frustration churns under the surface. It’s bad enough that he’s forced to write superficial “life hacks” instead of the investigative work he craves, but to have it dissected in front of everyone feels like an insult on top of an injury.

“It’s nothing personal, dear,” Rita continues, her voice taking on that particular kind of condescending warmth that sets his teeth on edge. “But you have to understand our readers. They don’t want… what was it?” She scans the printout in front of her with exaggerated precision. “Ah yes, ‘the science of productivity hacks.’ They want something that speaks to them, perhaps a little more... exciting.”

Lily shoots Regulus a look, her eyes sympathetic, and he can sense her barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. Regulus lets out a slow breath, trying to remind himself that this is all part of Rita’s game—a game he’s been chafing against for too long.

But before he can even conjure a suitably neutral reply, his gaze lands on Mary, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with fresh tears as she stares down at her lap.

And suddenly, an idea begins to form.

Regulus clears his throat, sitting up straighter, and forces a calm, almost casual smile as he looks at Rita.

“I have a new pitch,” he says, his tone deceptively light, masking the boldness of what he’s about to propose. “How about something with a bit of intrigue? A thing that taps into… romantic dynamics?”

Rita raises an eyebrow, her interest clearly piqued, though she makes a show of being mildly unimpressed. “Go on.”

Regulus doesn’t hesitate, letting the words flow with a confidence he doesn’t entirely feel. “We all know that relationships are a minefield of subtle rules and mistakes. But what if I… conduct an experiment? I’ll find someone, start a relationship, and use every trick to make them want to break it off.”

The room goes silent, and he sees the gleam of calculation in Rita’s eyes, her mouth quirking up in a sly smile. She leans forward, clearly savouring the potential scandal of it.

“An experiment in self-sabotage,” she murmurs, tapping a manicured finger against her chin.

“Exactly. By the end of it, I’ll have a step-by-step guide to what not to do when trying to keep someone.”

“And you’ll document every step? Every mistake you make along the way?”

Regulus nods. “Every detail. The do’s and don’ts, the subtle missteps. It’s guaranteed to resonate with readers. After all, who hasn’t wondered why a relationship fell apart?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Rita claps her hands together, beaming. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Regulus, darling, I do believe you’re onto something.

“Wait, it’s—”

“This is exactly the kind of content we need. It’s relatable, it’s daring—and it has the potential for real engagement.” Rita glances back at him, all traces of her earlier criticism gone. “You have ten days, then.”

“Rita, ten days is not really enough—”

“I want this piece ready for our next issue,” Rita cuts like there’s no way Regulus can argue with her decision. “And I expect it to be spectacular.”

Regulus nods, his heart racing, feeling the weight of what he’s just committed to sink in. Ten days to find a willing participant, to orchestrate a romance designed to fail, and to somehow keep his sanity in the process. The challenge is outrageous, but the potential payoff is undeniable. For the first time in months, he feels the thrill of a story worth writing.

As the meeting wraps up, Lily catches his eye, a bemused smile tugging at her lips. She leans in, whispering as they gather their things, “So, a guide on how to lose a guy? You really are a glutton for punishment, Reg.”

“It’s either this or another article on the ‘top five ways to declutter your closet.’ At least this has… potential.”

Lily laughs, giving him a quick, supportive squeeze on the arm as they slip their shoes back on by the door. Mary gives him a faint smile, and he returns it, feeling a pang of sympathy. If her heartbreak was the spark that ignited this plan, then maybe—just maybe—his experiment will give them both the clarity they need.

With Rita’s approving gaze still burning into the back of his mind, Regulus steps out of the lounge, mentally preparing himself for the game ahead.

As they head toward the lift for lunch, Regulus, Mary, and Lily are intercepted by a sharp, familiar voice slicing through the busy corridor.

“Regulus, a word.” Rita steps into his path, her eyes narrowing as she glances between the three of them.

Regulus sighs, exchanging a long-suffering look with Lily before he turns to face their editor. Rita is holding a stack of notes and gesturing animatedly.

“It’s about your article deadlines,” she says, barely pausing for breath. “I need everything from you forty-eight hours before we go to print.”

“Understood. I’ll start polishing it from the very beginning.”

Before Rita can respond, her secretary, Sibyll, appears with an impeccably dressed man in tow—a tall figure with slicked-back hair, an expensive suit, and a watch that glints in the office lighting.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Skeeter,” Sibyll murmurs. “Mr. Lestrange is here to discuss the Horcrux Diamond cover shoot.”

Rita’s eyes light up, and with a spark of excitement, she motions Regulus over.

“Oh, perfect! Regulus, meet Rodolphus Lestrange.” She gestures between them. “Mr. Lestrange, this is Regulus Black. Brilliant writer, knows exactly how to turn a phrase.” She smirks. “Currently working on a new piece—very cheeky. ‘How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.’”

Rodolphus turns his attention fully to Regulus, his gaze lingering with a distinct, sharp interest that makes Regulus feel, for a moment, like he’s on display.

“Is that so?” Rodolphus’s voice is deep, smooth as velvet, with a glimmer of intrigue. “A topic that would certainly draw in a few readers. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black.”

He extends a hand, his grip firm and lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Regulus nods politely, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost-smile. “The pleasure’s mine. I trust the Horcrux Diamond will make quite a splash on the cover.”

Rita jumps in, cutting off any further exchange. “Mr. Lestrange, let’s continue this in my office, shall we?” She winks at Regulus with an air of satisfaction before shepherding Rodolphus down the hall, calling back over her shoulder. “And Regulus, I’ll expect a draft as soon as possible!”

As she and Rodolphus disappear into her office, Lily lets out a low whistle. “So, the infamous Mr. Lestrange finally makes an appearance. That was… quite an introduction.”

Mary snickers. “More like an audition. I think he liked you, Reg.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny the strange, lingering impression Rodolphus left. “Well, he’ll have to wait. I’ve got a guy to lose in ten days, remember?”

༻༺

The rooftop of the Rosewood Hotel is already packed by the time Regulus, Lily, and Mary make their way through the crowd. Strings of delicate lights glitter above them, casting a soft glow over guests draped in designer couture, murmuring in low voices that mingle with the music. The bar area glows warmly, the polished wood reflecting the lights, and the cool London breeze mixes with the scent of cocktails and perfumes.

Regulus glances at his reflection in one of the glass panels as they pass—a flash of his silky midnight-blue shirt and fitted black corset. He doesn’t typically indulge in nights like these, but tonight, Lily and Mary had been unusually persuasive. And, he thinks, if he’s going to go through with this “experiment”, it may as well start here.

They find a spot by the bar, and Lily wastes no time. She scans the crowd, her gaze landing on a group of potential candidates before settling on a tall, dark-skinned man in a sharply tailored navy suit, currently engaged in a lively conversation a few feet away.

“What about him?” she suggests, nudging Regulus. “He looks… interesting. And definitely handsome.”

Mary shakes her head, frowning thoughtfully. “No, not him. He looks too kind. You’d have a hard time getting him to leave. It’d feel… wrong.”

Lily rolls her eyes, though her expression softens. “Honestly, Mary,” she huffs, rolling her eyes, “After what Peter did to you, I’d think you’d hate every man in London right now.”

At the mention of Peter, Mary’s face falls, her eyes beginning to mist. Regulus watches, feeling his stomach drop a little at her expression. He’d hoped she could enjoy the evening, or at least distract herself for a while, but he knows how fresh the pain still is.

“Don’t start,” he says softly before placing his half-finished glass down on the bar. He lifts his hands and begins fanning them rapidly in Mary’s direction, as if to air-dry her tears before they can fall. “Please, Mary. I’m not equipped to deal with tears tonight.”

Mary lets out a faint laugh, dabbing at her eyes while Regulus continues to wave his hands at her like he’s dispersing smoke. 

He throws a pointed glare in Lily’s direction. “Really, Lils,” Regulus says in an exasperated tone, “must you keep bringing him up?”

Lily raises her hands in a half-apology, guilt flickering across her face. “Fine, fine. No more Peter. But we are finding you a target tonight.”

Her eyes brighten as she catches sight of someone seated nearby. She gestures to a young man seated a few stools down from them, dressed in a perfectly fitted burgundy suit that sets him apart from the others. He’s turned slightly away, his gaze on the skyline as he swirls a glass in his hand.

“Look,” Lily whispers, nodding toward the guy. “What about him? Good-looking, refined, and he doesn’t seem… too cheerful.” She arches an eyebrow, giving Regulus an approving look. “Just your type, I’d say.”

Regulus considers the man, assessing him with a critical eye. He’s not someone he recognizes, but there’s something about him that holds his attention. He has that detached, almost reflective look, like he’s here but isn’t particularly invested in the scene around him. Maybe he’s another unwilling guest dragged along for the night.

“Well?” Lily presses.

Regulus lets out a sigh, glancing between his two friends, who are watching him expectantly.

“Alright. Let’s see if he’s as interesting as he looks.”

With a last encouraging smile from Lily and a nod from Mary, Regulus straightens his shirt, collects himself, and strides toward the man in the burgundy suit. There’s a thrill buzzing under his skin, and he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation or the absurdity of the whole situation.

He pushes the thought aside as he nears his target. The man glances up as Regulus approaches, looking slightly surprised but polite as he offers a slight nod. Up close, his features are even more striking—kind eyes, strong jawline, and a faint crease between his brows that hints at a thoughtful nature.

“Couldn’t help but notice you looked a bit… detached from the crowd,” Regulus says smoothly, leaning against the bar with an air of casual interest.

The man chuckles, a warm, soft sound, and raises his glass in a small toast. “I could say the same for you,” he replies. “Though I’d bet you’re here under your own terms.”

“You’d be wrong, actually,” Regulus says, his voice laced with a hint of dry humour. “I was dragged here by two very persuasive friends who insisted I try… expanding my social skills.”

“Ah,” the man replies, smiling as he sets down his drink, “then I’m in the same boat. Name’s Frank, by the way.” He extends a hand.

“Regulus,” he replies, taking Frank’s hand with a firm shake. “And since we’re both here under duress, how about we conspire to make the night a little more interesting?”

Frank laughs, his expression brightening with amusement. “Interesting, you say? Alright, I’m intrigued.” He leans in a little. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Well, for starters, we could abandon the pleasantries and dive right into the real questions,” Regulus suggests. “Why does a man like you look so out of place at an event like this?”

Frank raises a brow, impressed by the boldness. “I’m actually here because my Alice loves these sorts of things.” He gestures to the crowd, looking both amused and slightly weary. “She’s a social butterfly, I’m more the stay-at-home type.”

“Alice?”

“That would be me.”

Regulus turns to see a petite woman with a sharp, stylish bob, dressed impeccably in a tailored trouser suit that contrasts Frank’s burgundy. She’s looking at Regulus with raised eyebrows, one hand on her hip, clearly sizing him up. Her expression is amused rather than annoyed, and there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes that tells him she’s caught on to the situation immediately.

Regulus clears his throat, mortification creeping up his neck. “Oh,” he says, forcing a polite smile as he glances between Frank and Alice. “I, uh… didn’t realise. Apologies.”

Alice chuckles. “No offence taken. Happens more often than you’d think. My husband here just has one of those faces, doesn’t he?” She pats Frank on the shoulder, her smile widening. 

Frank gives a sheepish grin, murmuring. “Sorry about that, Regulus. Didn’t mean to mislead you.”

“Not at all,” Regulus replies, recovering enough to offer a graceful nod. “Lovely to meet you both. My apologies again, I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

Regulus heads back to where Lily and Mary are waiting. He can already see the suppressed laughter in their eyes, the way they’re trying—and failing—not to smirk. Lily’s shoulders shake with barely contained laughter, and Mary bites her lip, a hand over her mouth.

“So?” Lily says, barely able to contain her grin. “How did it go with the dashing gentleman?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “He’s married, that’s how it went.”

Lily’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Oh no! What a twist. Who could’ve seen that coming?”

Mary lets out a quiet snicker, trying to look apologetic but failing miserably. “Well, he did look… nice. Just a little too nice, maybe.”

Regulus sighs, throwing a last glance back toward Frank and Alice, who are now sharing a private laugh of their own. “This experiment is going to be harder than I thought.”

Lily pats him on the shoulder, feigning sympathy. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll find you someone suitable,” she assures him, glancing around the room.

“We’ll be right back,” Mary says. “There must be someone here for you.”

Regulus watches them go, rolling his eyes as they drift off, scanning the crowd like two hunters on a mission. Left alone, he lets out a resigned sigh, steeling himself for the next attempt.

Well, that’ll not be the easiest of challenges.

༻༺

The rooftop of the Rosewood Hotel is draped in twinkling lights and sleek black banners that flutter lazily against the London skyline. A private event to celebrate a designer’s latest successful collection, the show has been buzzing all evening with guests in couture and diamonds—a scene tailor-made for the Horcrux Diamond brand, which has just provided the jewels for the runway.

Guests in meticulously curated outfits and stylish gowns fill the space, each one more striking than the last, their laughter and murmured conversations punctuated by the occasional clink of crystal glasses. It’s the kind of event that Horcrux Diamond prides itself on sponsoring—a seamless blend of opulence and allure that makes every guest feel a part of something exclusive.

With a tumbler of scotch in hand, James leans against the railing, eyes flicking over the crowd. The amber liquid catches the light as he swirls it, casting warm hues that match the glow of the terrace.

To his left, Rabastan stands, gaze wandering over the guests, his attention often lingering on women with long legs and heels that shine under the rooftop lights. Every so often, his eyes flicker with interest or a subtle smile, betraying the quiet enjoyment he finds in the beautiful crowd.

Rodolphus stands at James’ other side, exuding his usual aloof elegance. His cool, half-lidded gaze flits between the guests and his younger brother, noting Rabastan’s restless attention with mild amusement.

“Tell me again,” Rabastan murmurs, eyeing a tall brunette with a dazzling smile, “why Minerva insists on office meetings when this is an option?”

Rodolphus smirks, glancing around the rooftop as if considering the statement. “Perhaps she worries we’d all be a little too... distracted,” he says, his tone dry. “Some of us more than others.” He lifts his drink to Rabastan in mock salute, and Rabastan chuckles, clearly unbothered.

“I have to admit,” Rodolphus adds, his voice low, “you’ve surprised me, Potter. Minerva’s little wager, and here you are, already scouting the room, looking for someone to fall in love with you.”

“Well, you know me, Lestrange. I never turn down a challenge. Besides, who says I need more than ten days?” James lets his gaze wander again, taking in the glittering crowd. “All I need is the right person and a bit of charm. The gala will practically take care of itself.”

“And you think charm is going to be enough? Might want to take a few notes, Potter,” Rodolphus says, nodding towards a pair of women in fancy dresses passing by. “For some, it takes a bit more than just a winning smile.”

“You two might underestimate the power of charm. Just watch.”

Rodolphus chuckles but says nothing, just gives James a light nudge, smirking.

“Not everyone is as easily won over as your usual flings, Potter. Maybe a bit of guidance wouldn’t hurt.” He inclines his head, nodding toward a trio gathered by the bar. “Why not start with someone who looks like they could use some company?”

James follows Rodolphus’s gaze across the terrace to the bar, where three figures are deep in conversation. He doesn’t recognize any of them, but the group immediately catches his interest.

Leading the trio is a red-haired woman, striking in an emerald-green jumpsuit with a plunging neckline that shows off a single diamond pendant—a subtle nod to the Horcrux brand. She stands with the confidence of someone who knows her place in the room.

Beside her is a dark-skinned brunette dressed in deep red silk, the colour complementing her figure as she stands with an air of resilience despite the faint puffiness around her eyes, a hint that she may have been crying recently. The asymmetrical hem of her dress falls just above her knee, paired with sleek black heels that lend her an understated elegance.

But it’s the third person who holds James’ attention. The man standing between the two women is striking in an entirely different way. He’s dressed in a fitted, silky midnight-blue shirt that shimmers faintly under the rooftop lights, tucked into high-waisted trousers and cinched with a black corset that highlights his narrow waist.

There’s a subtle line of mascara darkening his lashes, and his cheeks have a faint blush. Something about him exudes a quiet elegance that draws James in, a stark contrast to the polished but predictable fashion of everyone else.

Rodolphus catches James’ expression and grins. “Well? There’s your ‘opportunity.’ Why not start with him?”

“Him?” 

“Why not? Nothing like a bit of a challenge to keep things interesting, is there?”

James lets his gaze drift back to the man at the bar. The pull he feels is immediate, and for a brief moment, he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. A genuine curiosity.

“Mm. I think I just might.”

James watches as the trio exchange glances, the redhead whispering something the dark-haired man. His face shifts from amusement to mild exasperation, and James catches a subtle eye roll.

Then, almost on cue, the two women turn, giving the man a final grin before slipping away into the crowd. He’s left standing alone.

James’ lips curve into a grin. Perfect.

He takes his time. He always does. Confidence, after all, isn’t about rushing—it’s about knowing the world will wait for you. He drains the last of his scotch, sets the glass down and steps forward, weaving through the crowd. There’s no hurry; he knows how to make an entrance.

The man at the bar hasn’t noticed him yet, too busy scanning the crowd. He leans against the counter, sharp and elegant, his dark hair falling into place like it was staged. But it’s the subtle irritation etched into the corners of his mouth that hooks James in.

Not the type to be approached lightly. Good.

When he stops by the bar, he doesn’t speak right away. He takes a moment, standing just inside the man’s periphery, letting his presence register. Sure enough, the man’s head tilts slightly, his eyes flicking up to meet James’.

Blue. Sharp. Assessing.

For half a second, James feels like he’s being judged by some impossibly high standard. But he doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. He simply holds the gaze and lets the corner of his mouth tilt upward in a smile that says, I’m worth it. You’ll see.

“Looks like you’re working very hard at ignoring this party,” he says, his tone easy.

“And you thought you’d reward me by interrupting?” 

James laughs softly, leaning his forearm against the bar. “You didn’t look like you were having much fun ignoring it. Thought I’d give you a better option.”

The man raises a brow, his lips twitching faintly—not quite a smile, but close. “I bet you think you’re that option?”

“I could be,” James replies, unfazed. “But you’d know better than me what you’re looking for.”

The man hums, glancing away as though James has already lost him. But his fingers tap lightly against his glass, and James notices the faint flush that’s begun to creep along his neck.

“Regulus Black,” the man says eventually, holding out a hand. His grip is firm, cool, but there’s something testing about the way he lingers just a fraction too long.

“James Potter.”

“Alright, James Potter,” Regulus drawls. “Unattached?”

“Currently.”

“Likewise.”

“Surprising.”

Regulus tilts his head. “Psycho?”

“Rarely.” James shrugs. “Interested?”

“Perhaps.” Regulus narrows his eyes, scanning James from head to toe, visibly intrigued. “Why are you really here? I must say, you don’t really seem like the champagne and small talk type.”

James grins, unbothered. “What type do I seem like, then?”

“You tell me.”

“Alright,” James says, nodding slightly, his tone dropping just a fraction. “I’m here because someone told me it’d be worth it.” He lets the words settle, watching the way Regulus’s expression shifts—barely, but enough to notice.

“And? Is it?”

“Getting there.”

“Let me guess,” Regulus says, his voice edged with sarcasm. “You’re going to tell me this isn’t your scene either.”

James tilts his head, amused. “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t?”

Regulus hums. “No.”

James laughs softly. “Fair. But if it makes you feel better, I’d much rather be somewhere quieter. Less glitter, better music.” He gestures vaguely toward the room. “But then again, if I’d stuck to what I usually do, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Regulus’s lips twitch, curving faintly upward. “A bold line.”

“Is it working?” 

That earns him another flicker of a smile, this one slightly more pronounced. “You’re persistent.”

“Only with the right people.”

Regulus considers him for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly like he’s trying to find the catch. “And where would you go, if not here?”

“There’s this late-night spot across town,” James says, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like a secret. “No fuss, no dress code. Just good food, good company, and better drinks. Not exactly glamorous, but I’d say it’s got its own appeal. I’d probably be there.”

“Alone?”

“Unless someone interesting decided to come with me.”

Regulus doesn’t smile this time, but his posture softens. He looks at James like he’s searching for something, but James doesn’t rush him. He just waits, patient and steady, until Regulus finally speaks.

“And if I said yes?”

“Then I’d say,” James replies, “it’s delightful to have your company.”

That earns him the faintest laugh—a quiet, breathy thing that disappears almost as soon as it arrives. Regulus straightens, setting his glass down.

“Lead the way.”

A thrill of satisfaction runs through James, though he keeps his expression casual as he offers his arm in a playful, old-fashioned gesture. Regulus rolls his eyes but accepts it briefly before letting go, and they make their way toward the exit together.

Before stepping out, James can’t resist casting a glance back at the terrace, where he spots the Lestrange brothers watching them from a distance. Rabastan’s eyes widen slightly, and Rodolphus offers a knowing smirk, lifting his glass in a subtle, almost mocking toast.

James winks, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, then turns back to Regulus as they disappear down the staircase, the city’s endless possibilities stretching out before them.

Not yet, maybe, he thinks, but ten days is plenty of time.

Chapter Text

Regulus sits cross-legged on a plush cushion under a gauzy canopy, watching James with faint amusement as he explains each dish with the enthusiasm of someone sharing a favorite secret.

The restaurant is a cozy, dimly lit hideaway draped in rich fabrics, the smell of spices lingering warmly in the air. It’s worlds away from the sleek rooftop party they’d left behind—this place has an intimacy, a sense of being removed from the rest of the city, like a small, hidden gem.

As they’d left the party, James had led Regulus to his bike with a grin, a silent dare gleaming in his eyes. Despite an internal jolt of alarm, Regulus hadn’t hesitated to slide on the helmet James offered, feigning a calm he didn’t feel. The helmet fit snugly, and he was half-tempted to argue the point—but James only smirked, muttering something about how it suited him, and Regulus found himself caught off guard, the quickening thrill of the moment undeniable. 

Now, sitting here in this hidden restaurant with a bounty of spices between them, he can almost still feel the hum of the engine thrumming through him, grounding him in the lingering haze of excitement from that wild ride.

On the table before them is a spread of vibrant dishes. The first thing that catches Regulus’ eye is a bowl of palak paneer, a deep green sauce flecked with bright orange slivers of spice, small cubes of soft paneer nestled within. Nearby sits a golden pile of puri, the puffed, hollow bread glistening faintly with oil, and a neat stack of flatbreads—thin, warm, and fragrant. There’s also a platter of jalebi, spirals of sweet, sticky syrup, their shape as enticing as their rich aroma.

“And this,” James says, pointing to the palak paneer with a flourish, “is a bit of magic. Spinach and paneer, sure, but the way they balance the spices? You won’t get this in just any Indian place,” his eyes glint as he watches Regulus, clearly enjoying his role as tour guide, “But let’s start with something less complicated—try the puri. You break it open, like this,” he demonstrates with a grin, tearing open one of the golden puffs and filling it with a spoonful of vegetable curry, “and then fill it. Best bite of the night, I swear.”

Regulus, ever one to maintain a composed façade, can’t help but find himself mildly entertained. He takes a puri, following James’ example with a mix of curiosity and reservation, scooping in a bit of the curry before popping it into his mouth. The taste surprises him—rich, warm, a perfect blend of textures that dissolves against his palate. He raises an eyebrow, unwilling to admit how satisfying it is, but James is already watching him with a satisfied smirk.

“Good, right?” James leans back, crossing his arms as he grins, “Better than rooftop canapés?”

“Marginally,” Regulus replies, deadpan, but there’s a faint gleam in his eye that betrays him. He reaches for another puri, carefully tearing it open, “You seem to know your way around Indian food. Do you bring all your… acquaintances here?”

James laughs, shaking his head, “Not exactly. Usually, this place is for me, just a spot I come to when I need a bit of a breather from the chaos,” he shrugs, looking almost embarrassed, “But I thought you might appreciate something… a bit more interesting than the usual.”

Regulus doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting from James to the soft, flickering lanterns on the walls. It’s strange, sitting here with him. James is too handsome, too charming, and it’s annoying how well he seems to be able to keep Regulus engaged. In a way, it almost makes him regret agreeing to the plan at all. How exactly is he supposed to get through ten days of this without it feeling… complicated?

But he pushes the thought away, reaching for the palak paneer and spooning some onto his plate, “So, tell me about this one,” he says, gesturing with his spoon, partly to distract himself from his own thoughts.

James’ face lights up as he launches into an explanation about the palak paneer, “Spinach and cheese—paneer, technically—but the magic is in the spices. They add just the right amount of heat, then balance it with cream to make it rich without being heavy. It’s... comforting,” he smiles, as if remembering a fond memory, “Trust me, it’s one of those dishes you’ll crave long after tonight.”

Regulus lets himself smile faintly as he takes a bite. The creamy spinach and paneer melt on his tongue, and he has to admit—though only to himself—that it’s remarkable. There’s something deeply satisfying about the warmth of the flavors, a sort of honest comfort he hadn’t expected.

The moment stretches, quiet and content, as they eat in silence for a while. James reaches for a piece of jalebi, breaking the syrupy coil in half before offering the other half to Regulus.

“You have to try this,” James insists, eyes dancing, “It’s absurdly sweet, but trust me, it’s worth it.”

Regulus rolls his eyes but reaches for the jalebi, taking a tentative bite. The sugar melts instantly, flooding his senses with sticky sweetness, almost overwhelming, but oddly satisfying.

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, but he can’t hide his amusement, “Is this your idea of a balanced meal? Fried bread, creamy cheese, and sugar spirals?”

James chuckles, leaning forward, his gaze warm and playful, “Oh, absolutely. But it’s good for the soul, right?”

Regulus shakes his head, exhaling a reluctant laugh, though he quickly masks it with a sip of his masala. This entire setup feels too easy, too comfortable. He hadn’t expected James to be this… engaging. It’s supposed to be a job, after all, nothing more. In ten days, Regulus will write a column about how to send a man running in the opposite direction, and James will be little more than a memory. But sitting here across from him, watching James gesture animatedly as he describes each dish, Regulus feels an odd pang of regret.

“Penny for your thoughts?” James asks, catching Regulus’ gaze. There’s an openness in his expression, a curiosity that feels almost disarming.

Regulus shifts, carefully composing himself, “I was just thinking… this wasn’t quite what I had in mind for tonight.”

James raises an eyebrow, intrigued, “And what exactly did you have in mind?”

Regulus pauses, the slightest smirk appearing, “Something more... predictable,” he takes another bite of the palak paneer, carefully not looking at James, “But I’ll admit, it’s not entirely… disappointing.”

James laughs, leaning back against the cushions with a satisfied look, “High praise, coming from you. I’ll take it,” he takes a sip of his drink, watching Regulus with that same curious gaze, a look that feels almost impossible to ignore. 

Their meal continues leisurely, James guiding Regulus through each dish with unabashed enthusiasm, while Regulus indulges him, trying and failing to ignore the magnetic pull that James seems to exert so effortlessly. As they reach for another helping, the conversation turns, almost seamlessly, from food to the oddities of city life.

James, gesturing to the intricate, softly-glowing lanterns around them, asks, “Ever think about where you’d live if it wasn’t London? Someplace quieter, maybe?”

Regulus considers this, lifting his cup to his lips, “Quieter sounds appealing on paper,” he says, voice thoughtful, “but I think it would drive me mad after a while. There’s something... invigorating about the city. Like the chaos itself keeps you alive,” he leans back, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile, “Though I suppose it depends on where you’d go. A place with a certain charm, perhaps, but not dead.”

James nods, a warm spark of understanding in his gaze, “Agreed. I’d miss the energy too much,” he sets his cup down, his fingers tapping lightly against its edge as he muses, “Maybe a seaside town with a hint of wildness to it, then. Close enough to the city to visit but far enough to escape when you need to breathe.”

Regulus’ gaze flickers with intrigue, “That almost sounds poetic,” he raises an eyebrow, his tone laced with curiosity, “Didn’t peg you for the introspective type, James.”

James chuckles, not at all offended, “People tend to think I’m all surface,” he meets Regulus’ gaze, something honest sparking in his eyes, “It’s surprisingly freeing, actually, to let them think that.”

For a brief moment, Regulus is struck by the openness in James’ expression, as though there’s more under the surface than he’d been willing to acknowledge. Something about the rawness of the admission leaves a faint tension in the air. He wonders if this is a slip, a glimpse beneath the practiced, confident exterior.

Regulus studies James thoughtfully, considering his next words carefully, “Well, then,” he says slowly, “I’ll take it as a personal challenge to figure out what’s underneath,” there’s a sly glint in his eyes, a flicker of competitive amusement.

“Oh?” James’ grin returns, a spark of mischief gleaming, “Good luck. I’ve spent years perfecting my defenses.”

As their plates empty, James reaches for another jalebi, breaking it in half again and offering a piece to Regulus, “Here,” he insists, “one more for the road. You have to go all in.”

With a roll of his eyes, Regulus takes it, though he pretends to do so begrudgingly. The sticky sweetness melts instantly, saturating his senses, leaving a lingering warmth.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, and for a few fleeting moments, Regulus lets himself forget about the article, the plan, and the games they’re playing. In this dimly lit, secluded corner of the city, surrounded by the gentle hum of voices and the scent of spice, he allows himself a rare moment of ease.

As James leans back, looking at Regulus with that impossibly easygoing smile, Regulus feels a twinge of something unexpected, something he can’t quite name. There’s an undeniable pull in the way James looks at him, something that feels quietly disarming, even as he knows exactly why he shouldn’t let himself fall into this sense of ease.

In the back of his mind, the plan lingers, a stark reminder of his intentions. But here and now, with James’ voice low and warm, the city far away, he lets the night slip into a realm untouched by expectations. For tonight, perhaps, that’s enough.

As they linger over the final sips of their tea, James’ gaze drifts toward Regulus, thoughtful, as if weighing his next words. There’s a slight hesitation, an almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor, before he leans forward, his tone casual yet carefully measured.

“Look,” he begins, glancing at Regulus with a flicker of something that might be uncertainty, though it’s expertly masked, “If you’re up for it, we could keep the night going. My place is just a few minutes from here—close enough for a quick stop. Just us, a bit quieter, maybe a drink.”

Regulus lets his gaze linger on James for a moment, feigning contemplation. He hides his amusement behind a careful sip of his masala chai, savoring the rich blend of spices while inwardly marveling at the subtle play of tension in James’ offer. The restraint, the cautious lure—this man knows how to draw someone in, and he’s trying to do exactly that. But as far as Regulus is concerned, he’s the one reeling James in. There’s a thrill in knowing that James, with all his practiced charm, has no idea that he’s walking right into a setup.

It would be almost too easy, Regulus thinks, letting his decision settle. By going along with James’ invitation, he’d give him exactly what he’s hoping for, just enough to keep him intrigued, to deepen the allure of this game they’re both pretending isn’t happening. And by agreeing, he could accelerate his own plan, push the limits of James’ interest until it burned out on his terms.

“Alright,” he says finally, setting his cup down, his expression cool but agreeable.

A barely concealed flicker of satisfaction lights James’ eyes, and Regulus catches it instantly, that spark of triumph James is trying to downplay. If only he knew. The irony is delicious, and Regulus has to glance away to hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

James calls for the check, his movements composed but efficient, his voice smooth as he thanks the waiter. Meanwhile, Regulus takes the last sip of his tea, letting the warmth fill him as he prepares himself for whatever James has planned. The bike ride alone will be enough to edge them both into closer territory, and Regulus can sense James’ restrained eagerness as he tosses a few notes onto the table, trying not to appear too eager.

As they step out into the cool night air, James looks over at him, offering a quick, easy smile as he gestures toward his motorcycle parked nearby, “We’ll take the bike again,” he says, tone casual but carrying a hint of expectancy, as if he’s gauging Regulus’ reaction.

Regulus raises an eyebrow, studying the bike with a calculated, indifferent gaze, though he can feel the thrill bubbling just beneath his surface. There’s an undeniable pleasure in this—the speed, the closeness, the sheer recklessness of it all. He can see the subtle glances James throws his way, the almost imperceptible way his confidence rises at Regulus’ acceptance, and it only cements his growing conviction.

James Potter is going to be perfect for this.

Without a word, he accepts the helmet James hands him, and with the faintest smirk, he slides it on, adjusting the fit just so, letting James watch as he readies himself for the ride. By the time he’s settled behind him, his hands placed lightly against James’ sides, he’s already two steps ahead in his mind, the final stages of his plan coming into clearer focus. James thinks he’s making progress, that his careful words and guarded charm are paying off, but Regulus knows better.

In ten days, this will all be over, and James will be nothing more than a fleeting memory. But for tonight, Regulus is willing to let him believe otherwise.

James’ apartment is exactly what Regulus didn’t expect—and exactly what he should have. It’s a bachelor’s place through and through, sure, but it carries a surprising sense of warmth. The walls are painted in soft ochre and burnt orange, offset by colorful woven rugs sprawled across hardwood floors. Shelves and tables are littered with little tokens of life—framed photos, trinkets from travels, the odd potted plant that looks miraculously alive. There's an inviting chaos to it, as though the room itself insists that people stay a while, make themselves comfortable.

Regulus steps inside, his sharp gaze taking in the space, “It’s… cozy,” he says, and though his tone is neutral, the slight curve of his mouth betrays that it’s a compliment. His fingers skim the back of a couch covered in a bright patchwork quilt, as if testing its authenticity, “I didn’t take you for a fan of bright colors.”

James, shrugging off his leather jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair, rubs the back of his neck in an endearing gesture that’s almost sheepish, “Yeah, well. My mum has a thing for vibrant rooms. Says every house should feel like it’s lived in,” he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “Guess it rubbed off on me.”

There’s something so inherently boyish about the way James says it, a casual warmth that makes Regulus’ chest hitch in a way that catches him off guard. He presses his lips together, fighting the urge to smile— too much, too soon . But something in James’ easy demeanor makes it hard to resist, and before he can stop himself, his lips curl into a fleeting grin.

James catches the expression instantly, and his smirk deepens as if he’s scored a small victory, “Knew you had it in you.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, slow and deliberate, “What I have in me, James, is patience.”

James only laughs, the sound filling the room like it belongs there, “Alright, patience. What’s your drink? Wine? Whisky? Or something ridiculous like… absinthe?” he quirks an eyebrow, clearly fishing for a reaction.

Regulus takes a seat on the arm of the couch, his posture deliberately elegant, as if he belongs wherever he sits, “White wine, if you have it. Dry.”

James grins and nods toward the kitchen, already making his way there with the ease of someone who enjoys playing host, “One dry white coming up.”

Regulus watches him move toward the large, open kitchen, where a polished steel fridge sits proudly against one wall. The space feels well-used, yet somehow unpretentious, like the kind of kitchen that hosts midnight sandwiches and lazy Sunday breakfasts.

“Through the second floor, to the right,” James adds without looking back, answering the question Regulus hasn’t even asked yet.

Regulus lifts a brow, “Excuse me?”

James glances over his shoulder with a grin, “The bathroom. In case that’s what you were about to ask.”

Regulus hums, amused despite himself, “How intuitive of you.”

“Comes with practice,” James quips, “People usually ask after the first drink, though. You’re ahead of schedule.”

Regulus rises gracefully, smoothing a hand down his shirt, “Don’t worry. I have other ways to keep you on your toes.”

James lets out a laugh, leaning against the counter as he pulls a chilled bottle of white wine from the fridge, “Looking forward to it.”

Regulus smirks and turns toward the stairs, making his way up with unhurried steps, each one more deliberate than the last. The wooden stairs creak lightly underfoot, adding to the lived-in charm of the place.

He doesn’t actually need the bathroom—not really. What he needs is space, a brief moment to collect himself and recalibrate. It’s infuriating how quickly James has managed to make him feel at ease here. The apartment, with its warmth and quirks, feels like it’s conspiring against him, coaxing down walls he’s spent years perfecting. It’s unsettling. Dangerous.

Because this was supposed to be a game. A plan, a strategy. Regulus plays the long game, always. Ten days, and it’s over. He’s in control.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

He finds the bathroom easily—just as James said, second floor, to the right—and flicks on the light. It’s as nice as the rest of the apartment, functional but not cold. There’s a towel slung carelessly over a hook, and the faint scent of mint lingers in the air, the kind that comes from aftershave left just a little too long on the sink.

Regulus exhales slowly, gripping the edge of the sink for balance as he studies his reflection.

This is fine , he tells himself. You’re fine.

Except he’s not entirely sure if that’s true anymore. James Potter is supposed to be predictable—just another mark, another game, another article to write and forget. But sitting across from him at dinner, listening to him talk about homes filled with light and color, Regulus had felt something shift.

And that… that wasn’t part of the plan.

He smooths his hair back into place and forces his expression into its usual mask of aloof calm. No cracks. No room for mistakes.

Regulus leans against the sink, fishing his phone out of his pocket with a smooth flick of his wrist. The screen lights up with Lily’s name, and for a brief moment, he debates whether this is necessary. But if there’s one person who can ground him—and keep this whole situation from spinning out of control—it’s Lily Evans. She picks up on the second ring.

“You’re at his place?” she gasps as Regulus briefly tries to explain to her everything that has happened, her voice sharp with incredulous delight, and Regulus can practically hear the smile in it, “That guy with the glasses? You little slut.”

He huffs a laugh, low and quiet, masking it with a roll of his eyes, “Charming as always.”

“Wait, wait,” Lily’s voice dips into something conspiratorial, “You actually went home with him? Like, I knew you were committed to the article, but damn, Reg. Didn’t think you’d dive in that deep.”

“I’m not diving anywhere,” Regulus mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. He keeps his voice low, not trusting the thin walls, “I just… took him up on an invitation. That’s all.”

There’s a rustling noise on the other end, and Lily’s voice drops, suddenly serious, “Okay, but... is this safe? Are you seriously going to sleep with him?”

Regulus lets out a slow exhale and glances around the bathroom, half listening to Lily while his gaze lands on the open shelves and cluttered counter. His nose wrinkles in subtle disapproval. James’ bathroom is the very definition of casual chaos —deodorant caps left askew, half-empty bottles of shower gel stuffed haphazardly into corners, and a razor left to rust beside the sink. Regulus tugs open a cabinet, glancing inside out of habit. More of the same disarray.

Figures. James Potter—charming, reckless, and utterly unconcerned with neatness.

Regulus closes the cabinet with a quiet snort, “No, I’m not going to sleep with him.”

There’s silence for a moment on the other end, as if Lily is processing that information.

“Oh,” she finally says, and Regulus can hear the barely-concealed grin in her voice, “You’re just going to play with him first, hmm?”

Regulus doesn’t dignify that with a response.

In the background, he hears Mary’s voice faintly through Lily’s phone, “Tell him to be careful!”

Regulus raises a brow, his lips twitching slightly, “What’s Mary doing there?”

“Ah,” Lily says with a casualty that doesn’t quite hide the amusement in her tone, “We bailed on the rooftop party. She’s crashing at mine tonight.”

Regulus hums in acknowledgment, glancing at his reflection one more time in the mirror. The sharp angles of his face give nothing away, the picture of practiced detachment. Just another night. Just another plan.

“I have to go,” he says, straightening the collar of his shirt and smoothing out the fabric.

“Be good, Reg,” Lily teases, but there’s an undertone of concern, “And text me if you need anything, okay?”

“I’ll survive, Lily,” he murmurs, a hint of dry amusement in his voice, “Don’t worry.”

Regulus ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket. With one last glance around the bathroom—because of course Potter wouldn’t bother organizing his mess—he turns toward the door.

The game isn’t over yet. And as far as Regulus is concerned, James has no idea what’s coming. 

His lips curve slightly, just enough to hint at a smile. 

Regulus descends the stairs slowly, his hand trailing along the smooth banister as he makes his way down, each step deliberate. The scent of wine drifts up from below—crisp, cool, and just the right kind. From the living room, he catches sight of James reclining on the couch, his long legs stretched out comfortably, one arm slung casually along the backrest. There’s a casual ease to him, as if this is just another quiet night at home, but Regulus knows better. He can see the flicker of anticipation in the way James’ gaze sharpens the second he comes into view.

“Made it back in one piece,” James says, lifting a glass of white wine in greeting as Regulus steps into the room.

Regulus quirks a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging upward just slightly, “Barely. Your bathroom is… an adventure.”

James grins, unbothered, as if he’s heard this criticism before, “You get what you pay for with charm.”

Regulus huffs out a soft laugh, taking the glass James offers and lowering himself onto the couch beside him. Not too close, but close enough that the distance between them feels deliberate.

For a moment, they sit in comfortable silence, sipping their wine. The room is warm, the air buzzing with unspoken tension, and Regulus can feel it, the slight hum beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

“So,” Regulus begins, glancing around the apartment with a feigned air of detachment, though he’s watching James closely from the corner of his eye, “This place... It’s big. I take it your job pays well.”

James laughs, a low, warm sound, clearly unbothered by the bluntness, “It’s not bad. Advertising’s a good racket if you don’t mind the occasional chaos.”

Regulus tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass lazily, “No wonder. You’d have to do well to afford all of... this,” he gestures vaguely at the apartment—the rugs, the mismatched yet elegant furniture, the sheer expanse of space.

James leans back, giving Regulus a lazy grin, “You’re one to talk. That’s not exactly a thrift-shop corset you’ve got on.”

Regulus raises a brow, but the amusement lingers in his eyes. He lets himself smile, just a little, the curve of it sharp and knowing.

“You noticed,” his voice is light, teasing, as if daring James to keep playing along.

James shrugs, a smug flicker in his grin, “I’d have to be blind not to.”

Regulus hums in response, taking a long sip of his wine. For a few moments, they sit in a strange sort of quiet. Not awkward, exactly, but charged. James shifts beside him, his hand resting on the back of the couch just behind Regulus’ shoulder. There’s a closeness in the air now, something building between them, inch by inch. It’s a game they both know, a push and pull, but the tension is starting to tip over into something real.

Regulus feels the familiar tug in his chest, the signal to act, the moment when the game has to move forward or risk stalling. His thoughts flicker toward the plan, the article, the end goal. But James’ shirt is open halfway down his chest, exposing just enough tanned skin and muscle to distract him, just for a second.

Regulus lets his gaze linger, indulgent and fleeting—the curve of his collarbone, the definition in his chest. It’s infuriating how well put-together James is, in that maddeningly effortless way. Regulus knows better than to stare, but he allows himself the luxury of one quiet thought:

He really does look good.

James fidgets slightly, as if about to say something, his mouth parting—and that’s the moment Regulus decides to act.

Without warning, he sets his glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate click, the sound cutting through the stillness. Then, with a quick, smooth movement, he turns toward James, closing the distance between them in a single breath.

And before James can say a word, Regulus kisses him.

The kiss is sudden, sharp, deliberate. A precision move. Regulus leans in, his hand sliding to the back of James’ neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair as he pulls him closer. James makes a startled noise, but it’s lost between them, swallowed by the heat and pressure of the kiss.

For a brief second, Regulus feels the world narrow down to the warmth of James’ mouth, the way his lips part under the kiss, and the heady rush of having taken control.

And then James responds.

The hesitation melts away, and suddenly James is kissing him back, one hand coming up to rest on Regulus’ waist, the other sliding along the curve of his back with a deliberate, steady pressure. The kiss deepens, shifting from sharp and strategic to something hotter, messier, the kind of kiss that doesn’t belong in a plan.

Regulus knows he should pull away, regain control, remind himself that this is all part of the game. But James tilts his head just so, and the angle is perfect, and for one reckless moment, Regulus lets himself get lost in it, in the warmth, the closeness, the ease with which James draws him in.

It’s intoxicating. And dangerous.

But for now—for this fleeting moment—it’s exactly where Regulus wants to be.

He keeps kissing James, slow and intentional, his fingers curling at the nape of James’ neck, holding him just firmly enough to keep him there, to guide him without force. The warmth of James’ mouth is addictive, and Regulus can feel how the tension between them shifts—softening, slipping from playful control into something heavier.

James kisses back like a man losing his footing, one hand trailing down Regulus’ side, fingers pressing just enough to make it clear he doesn’t want to let go. When Regulus shifts closer, deepening the kiss, he can feel the way James’ breath catches, the slight hitch that gives him away.

And then, with a quiet exhale, James pulls back, carefully, as if it costs him to do it. His lips are kiss-bruised, red and swollen, his eyes darker than they were just moments ago. There’s a kind of dazed confusion in his gaze, like he’s trying to piece together how they got here so fast, as if he’s already lost the thread.

Regulus doesn’t need to say it aloud to know the truth. He has James right where he wants him.

James swallows, a faint laugh slipping out, breathless, "I think... I think we’re rushing things,” his voice is hoarse, like he isn’t quite convinced by the words himself. He drags a hand through his already tousled hair, looking away for a split second, as if grounding himself.

Regulus knows this type. Guys like James always hesitate at the edge, worried they’re falling too fast, too deep. And it’s almost laughable—so predictable that Regulus has to fight back a smile.

He shifts back slightly, tilting his head, his expression effortlessly composed, "You’re right," he says, smooth as silk, "We are rushing," the words roll off his tongue like an easy concession, as if he’s genuinely considering pulling back. But he knows exactly what’s coming next.

Regulus makes a slow, deliberate move toward his wine glass, fingers outstretched just enough to telegraph nonchalance, like a man who’s already decided to step off the gas.

He never makes it.

Before his fingertips can brush the stem of the glass, James moves, quicker than Regulus anticipates. There’s a sudden tug at his wrist, not rough, but firm enough to pull him back, and then James kisses him again, this time with all the hesitation gone, the restraint shattered.

The kiss is urgent, unrestrained—a silent apology for the moment of hesitation. James’ hand slides back to Regulus’ waist hidden under the corset, pulling him closer, while his other hand cups the side of his jaw, tilting his face to get the angle just right.

Regulus lets himself be pulled in, because this is exactly where he wanted James to end up. Caught between reason and desire, tangled in the space where it’s already too late to pull away.

And yet, something flickers unexpectedly—a twinge of warmth in Regulus’ chest, something unfamiliar that makes the kiss feel a little too real. He shoves the thought away before it can take root, tilting his head just enough to deepen the kiss, letting himself fall into the moment.

James groans quietly against his lips, and it’s the kind of sound that sends a spark straight through Regulus’ veins. He grips James’ shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath his hand, grounding himself in the weight of the body pressed against his.

This isn’t just a kiss anymore. It’s a shift in the game, a crack in the strategy that neither of them seems willing to acknowledge yet.

And Regulus? He’s perfectly fine with that.

James pulls Regulus down with him, guiding him gently onto the couch until Regulus’ back meets the cushions. Regulus moves with him, not resisting—no, he welcomes it, his body melting into the plush fabric as he pulls James down on top of him, tangling them together in one fluid motion. The heat between them is immediate, impossible to ignore, as James settles over him, hands braced on either side of Regulus’ head. Their lips crash together again, this time with more intensity, more urgency, like they’ve crossed some invisible line and there’s no turning back.

The kiss is wild and unrestrained, mouths parting and colliding, hot breaths mingling between them. Regulus’ hands slide up James’ back, feeling the taut muscles flex under his touch, and then twist into the unruly strands of James’ hair, pulling just enough to make James groan into his mouth.

James presses closer, his weight shifting naturally, his hips moving with a slow, unconscious grind against Regulus’ body, and Regulus swears he can feel the electricity sparking between them, lighting him up from the inside out. It’s almost dizzying, this closeness, this heat, like they’re teetering on the edge of something neither of them quite understands but neither is willing to stop.

And just when the kiss seems to consume them completely, James pulls away, breathless and flustered, as though he’s just remembered they’re supposed to be pacing themselves.

His forehead rests against Regulus’, both of them panting, lips swollen and slick from the onslaught of kisses. James’ glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his messy hair is now a complete disaster thanks to Regulus’ wandering hands. Regulus, in turn, is no better, his chest rises and falls rapidly, his own lips red and bitten, and there’s a haziness in his gaze, like he’s forgotten where the night was supposed to go.

“Shit,” James mutters, his voice rough with want. He presses his forehead harder against Regulus’ as if that’ll ground him, “This is… fuck, this is too fast. We’re rushing it.”

Regulus nods, breathless and flushed, his heart still hammering in his chest, “Yeah,” he whispers, agreeing with a shaky laugh, “Yeah. We are.”

They stay like that for a second, silent but connected, their bodies humming with tension, like the world has shrunk down to just the space between them. James’ hand lingers on Regulus’ waist, thumb brushing absent patterns over his corset, a touch so light it borders on maddening.

For a few beats, neither of them speaks. They just stare at each other, taking in the disheveled state they’ve left one another in. James’ glasses are hopelessly askew, and his lips are swollen, red, and thoroughly kissed. Regulus can’t stop himself from smirking at the sight. There’s something almost victorious in it, seeing James so undone, so thoroughly tangled in him.

And then, all at once, they move again, as if some unspoken cue has fired between them.

James leans down at the exact moment Regulus surges up, their mouths meeting in another frantic kiss, this one hungrier than the last, more reckless. Regulus’ hands fly back into James’ hair, tugging hard, drawing a low, pleased sound from James’ throat. The kiss deepens, their lips sliding together in perfect sync, teeth grazing, tongues tangling, like they’re both determined to take more, feel more.

James’ breath stutters as Regulus pulls harder on his hair, the sharp edge of pain only spurring him on. He shifts above Regulus, pressing his hips down, and the friction between them sparks like wildfire. Regulus gasps into his mouth, the sound swallowed by another heated kiss, and he arches instinctively against the pressure, chasing it.

James grinds against him, the roll of his hips slow but ponderous, each movement measured to keep Regulus exactly where he wants him, caught in the haze of it, unable to think of anything but the weight of James’ body pinning him down.

James kisses like he was made for it—thorough, intoxicating, and just messy enough to feel real. Regulus can’t help but think, Damn, he’s good at this. Every shift of James’ lips, every roll of his hips, is purposeful but unpolished, perfectly in sync yet grounded in a kind of raw, unguarded desire. For a moment—just a fleeting second—Regulus lets himself get caught in it, lets himself feel how good it is to kiss someone who knows exactly how to drive him to the edge.

But only for a moment.

This is a game, he reminds himself sharply, a strategy, not a night to lose himself in the press of a warm body. Regulus has to stay two steps ahead. The article waits for him, the column about how to send a man packing, ten days to drive him insane. And the next move, he knows, is all about control.

He thinks about what someone completely impossible in a relationship might do, someone emotionally unavailable, someone who keeps you hooked just to yank the rug out from under you.

Probably break the kiss just as things get interesting, Regulus muses to himself, the hint of a sly grin tugging at his lips as James deepens the kiss, completely unaware of what’s about to happen.

And then, just as he feels James fully give in, body warm and heavy over him, hips grinding down in a way that leaves no doubt about his state, Regulus pulls away. Abruptly.

He turns his head sharply, breaking the kiss, leaving James hanging mid-motion. He’s almost tempted to laugh out loud at the frustrated noise James makes—a soft, startled sound, somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

James freezes for a second, blinking as if rebooting, his dark eyes hazy and unfocused. His breath comes fast, and his voice, when he finally finds it, is low and hoarse.

“What… what’s wrong?”

Regulus’ lips quirk into a wicked smile he hides quickly, pressing his mouth into a neutral line. He glances up at James with the kind of calm, detached expression that makes it seem like he wasn’t just kissing the life out of him moments ago.

“I want you to respect me,” he says smoothly, voice soft but pointed, as though he’s stating the most obvious fact in the world.

James blinks again, completely thrown, brows drawing together in genuine confusion, “I do respect you.”

Regulus tilts his head, as if considering. He’s in full control now, and he can see the frustration blooming just beneath James’ handsome, kiss-bruised face. It’s delicious, “That’s good,” he says, still cool as ever, “Because I respect you. Just as much as you respect me.”

For a second, James just stares at him, looking utterly lost, like he’s trying to work out how they went from kissing on the verge of something to this, whatever this strange emotional stand-off has become.

They lay there in silence, the weight of James’ body still pressing into Regulus’, neither moving. James’ chest rises and falls heavily against his, as if he’s still catching up to what just happened. Regulus feels the tension brewing between them, thick and electric. It’s all part of the plan—build it up, let him feel the high, and then yank it away.

He pats James’ chest twice, a quiet, dismissive gesture, “Let’s stop at respect for now,” he says, his voice light and amused, as if it’s all just a bit of fun.

James stares at him, completely thrown off his rhythm, lips still parted slightly. For a moment, it looks like he’s about to argue, but he catches himself, exhaling hard through his nose instead. His brows draw together, frustration flashing across his face, but he doesn’t fight it.

Instead, with a reluctant grunt, he shifts off Regulus, easing himself back onto the other side of the couch.

Regulus sits up slowly, smooth and composed, as if he has all the time in the world. He doesn’t even look at James as he reaches for his wine, bringing the glass to his lips with a slow sip.

James sits beside him, silent and visibly bewildered, as if he’s trying to process how they went from tangled limbs and heated kisses to... this.

Regulus feels the grin creeping back onto his lips, but he keeps his face angled away, not letting James see it.

Because James is exactly where Regulus wants him. On the hook.

And from the way James is sitting there, flushed and disheveled, his hair a wreck and his lips swollen from kisses that went nowhere, it’s clear that he knows it too.

༻༺

James sits in stunned silence, still trying to make sense of what just happened. One second, Regulus was pulling him closer, kissing him like the world was about to end. And the next? He pulled away—calm, cool, completely in control—like James had misread every signal.

He can feel the ghost of Regulus’ lips lingering on his own, swollen and tingling, the memory of that sharp, intense kiss now seared into his mind. His chest feels tight with frustration, not just at the abrupt ending but at the fact that he can’t get a read on Regulus.

This was supposed to be easy. People usually fell for the charm, the banter, the grin, James’ usual game plan. But Regulus isn’t like anyone else.

James shifts in his seat, glancing sideways at the man next to him. Regulus looks entirely unbothered. He sits with his legs crossed, perfectly composed, as if the kiss that had just left them both breathless was nothing more than a passing whim. His long fingers cradle the wine glass delicately, and he sips it slowly, the curve of his mouth unreadable. Detached. Calm. Like he already knows the next step in this game, and James is still scrambling to figure out the rules.

For the first time in a while, James feels... off-balance.

He leans back into the couch, exhaling slowly through his nose. What does it take to make someone like Regulus fall for you? He turns the question over in his mind, trying to come up with a strategy. Patience, maybe. Respect. Regulus seems like the type who’d demand both.

And then there’s the need for casual confidence. Like the whole night’s no big deal, like James wouldn’t have agreed to anything casual anyway—not because he’s some player out for a hookup, but because he’s a serious guy, with serious intentions. The kind of guy who’s looking for more. And that’s the trick, isn’t it?

He just needs to show Regulus that there’s more to him than charm. That he’s someone worth betting on.

Silence stretches between them, heavy but not exactly uncomfortable. James lets it linger a moment longer, watching how the soft lamplight catches in Regulus’s dark curly hair, the way he holds his glass with such effortless elegance.

Christ, this guy. James runs a hand over his face, pushing back the frustration still humming beneath his skin.

Finally, he picks up his own glass of wine and shifts his weight, turning slightly toward Regulus. He’s careful to keep his tone light. Not pushy, not desperate, just... easy.

“I wouldn’t have pushed if you weren’t into it,” James says quietly, taking a small sip from his glass. His words are meant to be reassuring, a careful offering that lands somewhere between apology and promise.

Regulus doesn’t respond right away, just lets out a noncommittal hum, low and indifferent, the kind that makes it impossible to tell if he believes James or not.

James lets out a soft sigh, tilting his head back against the couch. Fuck, this guy is impossible. Every move James makes seems to roll off him like water off glass. There’s no predictable rhythm to follow, no easy way to chart a path forward.

And that’s the worst part—James doesn’t know how to catch him.

Regulus is sitting right next to him, close enough to touch, close enough to reel back in, but there’s a wall between them that James can’t seem to breach. Something cool and distant, like Regulus has already decided how this will end, and James is just playing along in a game that isn’t his.

He takes another sip of his wine, the acidity sharp against his tongue. His gaze drifts over the curve of Regulus’ neck, the elegant line of his collarbone just visible where his shirt dips open. And damn it, James wants another chance, wants to try again, but this time without tripping over his own feet.

“I’d like to see you again,” James says finally, letting the words hang between them like a lifeline. His tone is careful, soft, hopeful without being desperate. Just the right amount of interest, enough to leave room for Regulus to decide.

He takes another slow sip from his wine, trying to keep his expression relaxed, though his heart is pounding. Somewhere deep down, James knows this meeting is more than just a fling—it’s the kind of connection that could change things. And if he wins Regulus over, he wins it all.

Including the Horcrux Diamond contract.

The thought sends a flicker of determination through James. This has to work. He has ten days to make it happen, to figure out how to catch Regulus, to make him stay.

James leans back against the couch, masking his frustration with a lazy grin. He just needs to keep his cool, play it smooth, and hope like hell that Regulus will take the bait.

James takes another sip of his wine, watching Regulus carefully, waiting for a response that doesn’t come. The silence between them stretches longer than it should, and James forces himself to stay calm, to keep his smile easy and patient. This has to work. It always works—respect, caution, making it clear that he’s not some pushy asshole.

He offers a soft smile, leaning into his "good guy" act. People like that. Respect, patience—those are things people appreciate. Those are things that win them over.

“I’d really like to see you again,” James repeats, his voice warm, casual. Then he adds the clincher, “Only if you want to, though.”

He makes sure to say it like it’s an afterthought, like the ball is completely in Regulus’ court.

It feels like the right move, the kind of thing that should make Regulus feel seen, appreciated, in control. This approach always works. Always.

But not this time.

Regulus doesn’t react the way James expects. No shift in his posture, no softening in his expression. He just keeps drinking his wine, slow and methodical, like he hasn’t even heard James.

James waits, heart thrumming in the silence, until Regulus finally sets down his empty glass with a delicate clink. He looks over at James, his expression unreadable, those blue eyes giving absolutely nothing away.

“I think I’ll head home,” Regulus says smoothly, as if the night has run its course. No answer to the suggestion of meeting again. Just a quiet, composed decision to leave.

James’ jaw tightens for a second before he catches himself, forcing the tension out with a slow exhale. Shit.

He plasters on his best polite smile, the kind that says “cool and unbothered,” even though frustration gnaws at the edges of his patience, “Sure,” he says lightly, setting his wine down, “I’ll call you a taxi.”

Regulus gives a small, noncommittal nod and finishes the last sip of his wine, unhurried and calm, like he has all the time in the world. James watches as he places the empty glass neatly on the table, then rises from the couch with the same effortless grace he’s maintained all night.

There’s no sense of urgency in his movements, no indication that the kiss, the touches, the tension between them meant anything at all. James feels his pulse stutter in annoyance. He wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to see Regulus again. And he definitely wasn’t lying when he said he’d go at whatever pace Regulus wanted. But damn if this man isn’t driving him crazy.

James pulls his phone from his pocket, fingers moving swiftly to call a taxi. One way or another, he needs to figure this out. He needs to make Regulus want him, needs this whole thing to go his way. If he can just keep it together long enough, if he can crack the code, that Horcrux Diamond contract will be his.

But before he can hit dial, Regulus slips into his shoes by the door and glances over his shoulder with a small, sly smile.

“No need to walk me out,” Regulus says coolly, lifting a hand to stop James in his tracks. He’s already in control again, already miles ahead.

He puts on his shoes with a smooth motion, every movement intentional, like he knows exactly what effect he’s having. Then, with a quick glance toward the balcony door, he flashes James a wink—sharp, effortless, impossible to misinterpret.

“Watch me leave,” Regulus says, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

And just like that, he’s gone, slipping out the door and leaving James behind, frustrated, wanting, and more determined than ever.

James stares after him, his chest tight with something dangerously close to obsession. He presses the phone to his ear, but his thoughts are miles away, still lingering on the image of Regulus’ parting smile.

What the fuck is it going to take to get him?

James sits on the couch, phone in hand, staring at the empty spot where Regulus had just been, the space on the cushion still faintly warm from where he was seated. His wine sits forgotten on the table, and all he can do is replay the last few minutes over and over in his mind, trying—and failing—to make sense of them. What the hell just happened?

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This isn’t how these things ever go.

Usually, by this point, James has them hooked. One kiss, some charm, a little well-placed patience, and they’re already texting him the next day, leaving flirty emojis in his inbox, eager for a second date. That’s the rhythm. Flirt, escalate, pull back just enough to seem respectful, then reel them back in. It’s textbook. It’s practically an art form, and James knows how to work it like a pro.

But Regulus Fucking Black? He’s breaking all the rules.

James has never met someone this good at sidestepping the bait, never dealt with someone who slips out of his grasp so easily and makes it look effortless, at that. It’s driving him insane.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, dragging a hand down his face. How do you win over someone like that? Regulus seems immune to the usual tricks. The flirtation? He sees right through it. The charm? He brushes it off like it’s nothing. Even James’ attempt at "respect and patience"—normally a surefire way to make someone feel comfortable—had bounced off Regulus as if it hadn’t even registered.

What kind of person just... smiles and walks away after that? James thinks, clenching his jaw. Most people would have melted. Hell, most people would have at least given him a glimmer of interest, something for him to latch onto, to build on.

But not Regulus.

Regulus isn’t just playing hard to get. He’s rewriting the entire damn game.

James glances toward the door, as if Regulus might miraculously reappear, still wearing that infuriatingly cool expression. “Watch me leave," he’d said, with that little wink, like James was just a piece on the chessboard. A step ahead, already planning his next move.

James clenches his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose. He’s used to being in control, used to knowing exactly where things are going and how to steer them. But with Regulus? He feels like he’s chasing a shadow—and the worst part is, Regulus knows it.

He picks up his wine and takes a long sip, hoping it will calm him down, but all it does is leave a bitter taste in his mouth. What does it take to catch someone like Regulus Black?

He thinks back to the kiss, to the way Regulus had kissed him like it meant something, just long enough to reel James in, to make his heart pound and his head spin. And then, just like that, he pulled away, as if it had all been meaningless.

It’s brilliant, really. A masterclass in control.

James knows the type. Or at least, he thought he did. People like Regulus don’t just let themselves fall into someone’s arms. They make you work for it, push and pull, string you along until you don’t know which way is up. The trick, James knows, is to be patient, confident. Act like you’re not affected, even if you are.

But with Regulus, it’s not working. None of it is working.

And James can’t help but wonder: What if that’s exactly what he wants?

He taps his thumb against the rim of his wine glass, brow furrowed. Maybe Regulus doesn’t want someone who follows the rules. Maybe he doesn’t care about patience, or charm, or any of the usual moves. Maybe he’s testing James, pushing, prodding, waiting to see if he’ll crack under the pressure.

The realization sends a flicker of determination through him, sharp and electric. If Regulus wants to play games, fine. James is good at games. Hell, he lives for them. But this time, he’s going to have to rethink his strategy.

The problem is... James doesn’t really get what Regulus wants.

He sits back against the couch, frustration buzzing under his skin. Every time he thinks he’s figured out a way in, Regulus slips through his fingers. What does a guy like that want? Affection? No, too easy. Control? Maybe, but Regulus already seems to have that. Something real? Maybe... but how do you even offer that without looking desperate?

James taps his glass against his knee, the sound soft and rhythmic as he tries to piece together a plan. He can’t afford to screw this up, not with Regulus, and definitely not with the Horcrux Diamond deal on the line.

Because if he pulls this off, if he wins Regulus over... the contract is as good as his.

And James Potter does not lose.

He drains the rest of his wine and sets the glass down with a soft clink, mind still spinning. He just needs to play it cool, give Regulus space, but not too much. Enough to make him curious, to make him come back. He needs to be the guy Regulus can’t stop thinking about.

James lets out a slow breath, forcing a smile onto his face, though there’s a gnawing frustration in his chest. This is harder than it should be. But he can’t let that show. Regulus has already seen too much, already gotten under his skin.

No. James leans back, stretching his arms across the back of the couch, rearranging his expression into something relaxed and easy.

He’ll figure this out. He always does.

The next move is simple: Make Regulus want him. Not through charm or patience, no, something else. Something Regulus isn’t expecting.

James just has to figure out what that is.

And then? Regulus Black won’t know what hit him.

James sets his phone down with a soft click, dragging a hand through his hair, and makes his way toward the balcony door. If Regulus said watch me leave , then James intends to do exactly that.

The night air is cool against his skin as he steps outside, resting his hands on the railing. From three stories up, he has a clear view of the sidewalk below, where the black taxi waits at the curb, engine purring softly in the stillness of the night.

There he is—Regulus, just as composed as ever, his fancy corset tight around his waist. He walks with that same smooth, deliberate grace, the kind that makes it look like he’s never hurried a day in his life.

James leans on the railing, eyes fixed on the figure below. It should feel like the end of the night, but somehow, it doesn’t. It feels like a standoff, like they’re still tangled in a game that hasn’t quite finished playing out. And James isn’t ready to lose. Not yet.

Just as Regulus reaches the car door, he glances back up, straight at the balcony where James stands, waiting. Their eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, James forgets how to breathe.

Then, Regulus smiles.

Not the sly, knowing smirk James is used to, but a wide, genuine smile, the kind that catches James completely off-guard. It softens Regulus’ sharp features, makes him look almost... young. There’s a flicker of something shy in that smile—like for once, the mask has slipped, and Regulus is just a boy standing on the street, waving goodbye to someone who’s managed to catch his attention.

Regulus lifts a hand and waves, the gesture light and playful, as though he’s embarrassed by how pleased he looks.

James’ heart kicks against his ribcage, that damned smile doing things to him he didn’t expect. For the first time all night, he feels a flicker of hope, something bright and sharp and dangerous.

This is it.

He leans forward over the railing, a grin curling at the edges of his mouth. “Oh, you’re already falling in love with me,” he murmurs, voice low and pleased, more to himself than to anyone else.

Because how could he not? James knows charm when he sees it, and that smile down below? That’s the smile of someone who’s trying not to fall, but already has.

Just as the thought settles in James’ mind, Regulus tilts his head, his dark eyes glinting with a kind of playful defiance. And then, with deliberate precision, he blows a kiss upward—light, fleeting, and unmistakably meant for James.

James watches, stunned for half a second, as the invisible kiss drifts through the cool night air, landing squarely on his ego. It’s confirmation. Regulus knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s driving James wild.

He can’t help it. He grins, the kind of grin that lights up his whole face.

Regulus flashes him one last sly look, his eyes dancing with amusement, before slipping into the taxi and disappearing into the night.

James leans back against the railing, exhaling slowly, the grin still lingering on his lips.

"Gotcha," he whispers to himself, voice low and victorious.

Because he knows, without a doubt now—Regulus Black is on the hook. 

And James Potter? He’s not letting go.

༻༺

The elevator doors slide shut with a soft hiss, and Regulus leans back against the cold steel wall, exhaling slowly. His reflection in the polished surface stares back at him, calm, composed, perfectly in control. On the outside, at least.

Inside, though? Everything feels unsteady, tangled.

The kiss, the way James pulled him close, the press of his weight—it’s all still buzzing under his skin, as if his body hasn’t quite caught up to his brain yet. It had been too much and not enough at the same time, every touch a deliberate trap waiting to be sprung. And yet, somehow, it was Regulus who pulled away first.

That was the right move. It had to be. But now, in the silence of the elevator, he knows he needs more than just instincts to win this game. He needs a plan. A strategy.

Regulus tips his head back, closing his eyes briefly as the elevator hums its way down to the ground floor. What’s the best way to catch someone like James Potter? He’s not some clueless idiot who’ll fall at the first sign of affection, no, guys like James are used to winning, used to charming their way into what they want.

So how do you make someone like that come to you?

The answer flickers at the edge of Regulus’ thoughts, just out of reach, like a puzzle piece he hasn’t quite placed yet. Unpredictability. That’s the key. Balance between being just close enough to intrigue him and slipping away before he can catch you.

Regulus presses the heel of his hand against his temple, sorting through his thoughts. Affection has to be rationed. Just a taste, enough to make him think he’s getting somewhere, but not enough to satisfy. Push, pull. Give, take away.

He knows the type. Guys like James live for the chase, for the thrill of reeling someone in. The second things get too easy, they lose interest. No, James has to think it’s his idea to keep chasing. He has to believe he’s winning, even when he isn’t.

Balance the sweetness with the slip. That’s the game. Charm him, confuse him, leave him wanting. Regulus taps his fingers against the cool metal wall, a slow rhythm matching the pace of his thoughts. He’ll need to disarm James just enough to make him lean in and then, right when he’s comfortable, pull away.

Yes. That’s the way forward. Uncatchable, but just close enough to touch.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and Regulus steps out into the crisp night air. The black taxi waits by the curb, engine humming low, the windows reflecting the streetlights. He pauses for a moment, standing on the threshold of the building.

His hand lingers by his side, indecisive for a fraction of a second. This isn’t part of the plan, not really. But strategy doesn’t mean rigid rules. It means knowing when to improvise.

And right now? He knows exactly what James needs.

So Regulus turns, glancing up at the balcony where James stands, waiting. Even from this distance, he can feel James’ gaze locked on him, following his every move.

With a breath, Regulus lets himself smile. Wide, unguarded, childlike. It’s a smile that feels foreign on his face, but that’s what makes it perfect. It’s not the sharp smirk James expects, not the guarded expression he’s worn all night. It’s soft, open, and dangerous.

He lifts his hand and waves, playfully, like an old friend parting ways, not a near-stranger who just kissed him senseless minutes ago.

James’ shadow moves on the balcony, and Regulus sees him hesitate, just for a moment. Then, like clockwork, he waves back. Of course he does.

Regulus feels the tug of satisfaction curl in his chest. Got you.

Still smiling, Regulus raises a hand to his lips and blows a kiss into the night. His breath fogs the cold air for a second before the invisible kiss drifts upward, and he watches it soar toward James’ balcony, like a silent promise.

As he lets his hand fall back to his side, he whispers under his breath, the words a private vow, “I’m going to make you wish you were dead.”

There’s no malice in the words, only cold precision, because that’s the game. Not cruelty, not revenge. Just control. Make him need it. Make him want it. Then, when he’s too far gone, walk away.

With that thought locked firmly in place, Regulus slips into the backseat of the taxi, cool leather welcoming him as he pulls the door shut behind him. The driver glances back briefly, confirming the destination before pulling away from the curb with a smooth hum of the engine.

Regulus leans back against the seat, watching the city blur past the window as the taxi glides through the quiet streets. His heart is steady now, his plan clicking into place like the pieces of a perfect machine.

The night isn’t over. Not really. It’s just a matter of time before James comes chasing after him again.

And Regulus? He’ll be ready.

Chapter Text

James leans over the polished surface of the billiard table, chalking the cue with absent-minded intensity. The click of the balls echoes through his office, the rich wood-paneled walls and low lighting lending the room an air of effortless sophistication. He takes his shot, watching as the cue ball rolls smoothly across the green felt, sinking a striped ball into the corner pocket with a satisfying thud.

Across from him, Fabian and Gideon exchange knowing looks, grinning like they’re in on some private joke.

"So..." Fabian starts, leaning on his cue stick with a lazy grin, "Are you gonna tell us about this mystery guy who’s got you breaking out all the stops? The whole office saw you dialing someone nonstop this morning, mate."

James straightens, letting out an exasperated sigh, “Oh, that. Yeah, I’ve been calling him all morning, but Regulus is practically a ghost. Won't even pick up,” he lines up another shot, but his focus wavers, his thoughts slipping back to the night before, to the maddening way Regulus had smiled and then just... walked away. He sinks the ball anyway, but the satisfaction is fleeting.

Gideon raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he inspects his cue, “And where exactly did you get his number? Don’t tell me he just handed it over after that tragic goodbye you described last night.”

James gives him a rueful grin, eyes flicking back to the table as he chalks the cue again, “Connections, Gideon. Had to get a bit... creative,” he shoots them a look, like he’s half-proud, half-annoyed at how far he had to go.

Fabian snorts, crossing his arms. “Define creative.”

James leans on his cue stick, shoulders dropping slightly as he considers how ridiculous the story sounds, “Fine. Turns out he works at that lifestyle magazine, The Daily Prophet. I had to go through a whole chain of editors, because of course, they don’t just hand out personal numbers,” he rolls his eyes, exasperated, “Found this woman named Sybill—a secretary, I think—who was finally willing to listen. But only after about two hours of coaxing and an embarrassing amount of flattery.”

Fabian bursts out laughing, leaning against the wall, “So, what, you had to charm the secretary just to get a phone number?”

“Pretty much,” James grins, shaking his head, “It was her day off, and she was home, midway through what she described as a “very important tea-leaf reading.” By the end of it, she was convinced I’m some kind of lost soul in need of romantic guidance. I don’t know if it was my smooth-talking or her pity, but she finally gave in.”

Gideon laughs, shaking his head, “So what I’m hearing is, you spent half your morning wooing the secretary just to get a chance at this guy?”

“Basically, yes,” James lets out a mock sigh, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table as he waits for Gideon to take his turn, “But even after all that, he hasn’t answered once. Zero texts, zero callbacks.”

Fabian whistles, looking genuinely impressed, “Sounds like he’s got you in knots. Isn’t that normally your trick?”

James huffs, giving a lazy shrug, though there’s a flicker of irritation in his gaze, “You’d think. But this guy... he’s playing some other game. One I don’t even know the rules to,” he shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his mouth despite his frustration, “I spent the night convincing myself he’d be calling me back first thing in the morning. And instead, I’m the one dialing like a fool.”

Gideon quirks an eyebrow, amusement glinting in his eyes, “Let me get this straight: you’re already smitten with some Regulus who refuses to pick up the phone? The James Potter, brought down by some moody journalist?”

James’ jaw tightens, but he tries to play it off with a smirk, grabbing his glass from the nearby side table and taking a slow sip. Regulus isn’t just “some guy.” He’s a puzzle—sharp, unpredictable, someone who’s clearly used to getting exactly what he wants and won’t let anyone in until he’s good and ready.

“Look, it’s not like that,” James says finally, setting down his glass, “It’s... it’s strategy. He wants to play it cool, so fine. I’ll let him think I’m the one chasing. But trust me, by the end of this, he’ll be knocking down my door.”

Fabian and Gideon exchange another look, and this time they don’t even try to hide their grins.

“Whatever you say, James,” Fabian lines up his shot, grinning over his shoulder as he does, “Just be careful. Sounds like this one’s got you on a hook already.”

James scoffs, though he can’t quite ignore the way his pulse jumps at the thought. He’s got it under control. Or at least, he will, once he figures out the trick to catching Regulus’ attention. That Horcrux Diamond contract depends on it.

He glances down at his phone, fingers itching to dial the number again, even though he knows it’ll just go to voicemail. It’s maddening and oddly exhilarating. Because with Regulus? The game is only just getting started.

James takes another shot, the cue ball slicing cleanly across the table, knocking a solid-colored ball into the pocket. But his satisfaction is short-lived; his mind is still occupied with the fact that Regulus hasn’t responded once, despite the dozen calls he’s already made. He straightens, frowning, and chalks the cue again as Gideon leans against the table, watching him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“You know, calling him over and over is probably the dumbest thing you could do,” Gideon says, shaking his head, “It’s not charming, it’s desperate. You want this guy to fall for you? Show him you’re not some lovesick puppy. Be the man who takes charge.”

James narrows his eyes, a little defensive, “Oh, really? I took charge last night, alright—I didn’t push him, I got him a taxi, and I covered the whole bill at the restaurant. That counts as a hell of a lot more than some grand gesture.”

“That?” Gideon snorts, his expression thoroughly unimpressed, “That’s bare minimum, mate. If you’re serious about this—if you really want that Horcrux Diamond contract—you’re going to have to work for it. You need to make this guy fall for you, and I mean hard. Real, romantic, I-can’t-breathe-without-you type of thing.”

James scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s a flicker of doubt beneath his bravado, “Right. And what, exactly, do you suggest I do? He’s not the dinner-and-kissing type, apparently; if anything, that’ll push him further away.”

Fabian, who’s been quietly following the conversation with a smirk, catches on to Gideon’s point and gives James a playful smack upside the head, “Simple. Send him flowers at his office, you idiot. Nothing says ‘I’m serious about this’ like a bouquet showing up at his desk for everyone to see.”

James blinks, hesitating, as he turns the idea over in his mind, “Who the hell even works on a Saturday, though? It’ll just sit there till Monday, and he’ll think I didn’t even know he wasn’t there.”

Fabian laughs, “Well, we’re working, aren’t we? Who’s to say he isn’t?” he shrugs, leaning casually against his cue stick, “Look, that guy already knows you want him. Might as well own it. If he’s interested, he’ll take the bait.”

But Gideon shakes his head, interjecting, “No, no. Not the office. Send the flowers straight to his flat. You want to show him you’re serious, don’t make it some half-baked office gesture. Make it personal, something he can’t ignore.”

James sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to suppress a growing sense of anxiety. He’s never been one to chase anyone this hard—but then again, he’s never met someone like Regulus. Not only does the man seem immune to the usual charm tactics, but he’s made it almost impossible to read him. Still, the idea of sending flowers to his home stirs something in James, a kind of satisfaction at the thought of catching Regulus off guard.

He glances back at Fabian and Gideon, who are watching him with twin expressions of anticipation, their raised eyebrows daring him to step up to the challenge.

“Alright,” James finally concedes, nodding slowly as the plan solidifies in his mind, “Fine. I’ll send him the flowers. Something elegant, subtle, but unmistakable. Something that says... I’m not going anywhere.”

Gideon grins, clearly pleased, “Now that’s more like it.”

Fabian chuckles, nudging James in the ribs with his elbow, “And next time, maybe skip the endless calls. Mystery’s half the game, you know.”

James looks between Fabian and Gideon, his expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief, “Alright, genius brothers. So how exactly am I supposed to get his address?” he crosses his arms, already regretting he even asked the question.

Both Fabian and Gideon exchange a quick glance before bursting into laughter, grinning as if the answer couldn’t be more obvious.

“Sibyll,” they say in unison, barely containing their amusement.

James groans, throwing his head back, “Oh, come on. You can’t be serious. I already had to sweet-talk her for his number!”

Fabian claps a hand on James’ shoulder, practically doubled over with laughter, “Sounds like you’re going to need all the charm you can muster, mate. Good luck getting through another séance with Sibyll.”

Gideon smirks, lining up his next shot with a wicked grin, “Yeah, good luck, Romeo. You’ve got some convincing to do.”

James lets out another groan, his mind already spinning with the prospect of a very long phone call to a certain overly intuitive secretary.

༻༺

Regulus spears a piece of pancake with his fork, letting the sweet taste linger on his tongue as he savors his breakfast. The pancakes are perfect—golden, fluffy, and slightly crispy at the edges, just the way he likes them. Mornings like these are rare, he thinks, where everything feels calm and comfortably messy, his usual sense of order tossed aside in favor of lazy indulgence.

Mary sits across from him, flipping through a magazine, occasionally reaching over to nudge his shoulder when she finds something particularly interesting, while Lily, curled up next to him on the couch, keeps stealing bites off his plate with an innocent expression that doesn’t fool him in the slightest.

“Next time,” he says, rolling his eyes as she steals another forkful, “I’ll just get you your own plate.”

Lily shrugs, giving him a grin that’s both unapologetic and annoyingly cute, “But it tastes better when it’s from your plate,” she makes a little noise of delight as she savors the stolen bite, “And besides, I made the cosmos last night, so I think I deserve a little extra.”

Last night feels like a blur, a whirlwind that started the moment Regulus had stepped through the door after his encounter with James. As soon as he’d texted Lily and Mary to say he was home, they’d shown up armed with bottles of vodka, cranberry juice, and enough makeup to stage an entire fashion show. Lily had made cosmos while Mary played DJ, and the three of them had settled into a comfortable rhythm, drinking, laughing, and dissecting every moment of his night.

It had been a relief, honestly, to let go of all the calculations and strategy for a few hours, to laugh over ridiculous dating mishaps and vent about men and women in general. The night had gone on until the early hours, and by the time they finally decided to sleep, Regulus had been more than happy to give up his bed to the girls, opting instead for the lumpy comfort of his couch.

Now, in the morning light, he sits here, hair mussed, dressed in a ridiculously oversized t-shirt he’d found buried at the back of his closet. The shirt had belonged to Barty, his last relationship, a fact that still amused him. Barty had left little traces of himself all over Regulus’ apartment, and while the breakup had been inevitable, he had to admit—the guy had been a damn good lover.

“So,” Mary’s voice breaks his thoughts as she raises an eyebrow, giving him a teasing look, “are we going to talk about him, or is that off-limits?”

Regulus gives a casual shrug, poking at his pancakes, “Not much to say. He’s… interesting, I suppose.”

“Interesting,” Lily echoes with a smirk, nudging his arm again, “That’s a new one. Not ‘annoying’ or ‘insufferable’?”

Regulus suppresses a smile, his eyes drifting back to his plate as he swirls a piece of pancake in syrup, “Oh, he’s those things too,” he murmurs, amused, “but in a way that’s... strategic.”

He can feel both of them watching him, but he keeps his gaze trained on his plate, not willing to give them any more than that. He’s still figuring out his own thoughts about James, so the last thing he needs is for Lily and Mary to start psychoanalyzing him before he’s ready.

Before he can fend off another question, the doorbell rings.

Regulus looks up, frowning, his fork pausing mid-bite. He raises an eyebrow at the girls, who exchange a quick glance before Mary shrugs, “Maybe it’s the universe, bringing you more breakfast,” she says with a mischievous grin.

He lets out a huff, setting his fork down and reluctantly pushing himself up from the couch, “The universe can wait until I’ve finished my pancakes,” he mutters, padding across the room.

In the oversized shirt and still half-asleep from the night before, Regulus is hardly in the mood for unexpected guests. But curiosity pulls him toward the door, a strange tug in his chest that he can’t quite shake.

He throws one last look at the girls, who are watching with keen interest, before he turns the handle and opens the door.

As Regulus does so, for a moment, he's taken aback by the sight before him: a deliveryman holding a bouquet so enormous that it practically swallows him. The flowers—a mass of lush, pale pink peonies, artfully arranged and fragranced like a spring breeze—are held in a grand, ribbon-tied box, the kind of arrangement one doesn’t send lightly. This is a bouquet that makes a statement.

“Regulus Black?” the deliveryman asks, glancing down at his tablet to confirm.

“Yes,” Regulus replies, still processing what he’s seeing.

The deliveryman hands him the tablet to sign, and Regulus scribbles his signature with an air of disbelief. He wasn’t expecting anything like this—not today, not this dramatically. Bouquet in hands, he nods his thanks to the deliveryman, stepping back into the hallway as he awkwardly maneuvers the massive box inside, the scent of fresh peonies enveloping him. Once he’s closed the door, Regulus sets the bouquet carefully on the floor, just staring at it for a moment, half in shock, half in disbelief.

Before he can begin to unravel his thoughts, he hears footsteps behind him, and Lily and Mary appear in the hallway like they’ve been summoned by the sheer audacity of the gesture. They freeze, eyes going wide as they take in the extravagant display, then simultaneously gasp in mock awe.

“Oh. My. God,” Mary whispers, her voice full of delighted disbelief. Her gaze darts to him, eyebrows raised, a knowing grin playing on her lips, “Whoever sent these wasn’t messing around.”

Lily's eyes sparkle with barely concealed excitement as she steps closer, fingers already reaching into the bouquet, “These are—wait, these are pink peonies, Reg. Do you know how much a bouquet like this costs?”

Regulus can only smirk, arms folded as he watches the girls react. Mary circles the bouquet with a kind of admiration usually reserved for a work of art, while Lily is already hunting through the blooms, searching until her fingers land on a small white card nestled between the peonies.

With a dramatic flourish, she clears her throat and holds the card up as though she’s about to read a proclamation.

She glances at Regulus, her eyes dancing. “Ready for this?”

“Go on,” he drawls, trying to sound unaffected, though the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement.

“My phone’s going to explode from how many times I’ve called,” she reads aloud, voice dripping with mock romance. She pauses, throwing a teasing glance his way before continuing, “Please, just pick up. —James.”

Lily and Mary burst into laughter, their voices rising with excitement as they exchange wide-eyed glances, hands clutched to their chests in exaggerated swoons. Their amusement is infectious, the sound of their laughter echoing down the hall, and Regulus can’t help but let his own smile break through. He feels something warm and smug settle in his chest, a kind of thrill he hasn’t felt in ages.

“James,” Mary repeats, practically tasting the name. She shakes her head, laughing as if she can hardly believe it, “So this is the James. I mean, if he’s already sending bouquets, I’d say you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, Reg.”

Regulus just smirks, letting his eyes fall half-closed, basking in the satisfaction of it all. He’d known it, suspected it the moment he met him—that James Potter was the type who couldn’t resist a chase, someone who’d keep coming back for more the harder Regulus pulled away. But seeing the evidence right in front of him, in the form of this ostentatious, breathtaking bouquet, makes it all the sweeter.

“Oh, he’s hooked, alright,” Regulus murmurs, more to himself than to the girls. The idea fills him with an intense, quiet satisfaction. It’s more than a game now—it’s validation, proof that he’s holding all the cards.

He leans down, inhaling the fragrance of the peonies, a pleased smirk still tugging at his lips. Every unanswered call, every text he didn’t read, every voicemail he let slip by without acknowledgment is paying off, and then some. James Potter is a hunter, drawn by the thrill of pursuit, and Regulus is the prize just out of reach.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? The perfect balance between temptation and mystery, pulling James in with just enough sweetness to keep him invested while staying just far enough away to drive him to distraction.

Lily snaps Regulus out of his reverie, her hand resting gently on his shoulder as she gives him an affectionate squeeze. She looks at him with that knowing gleam, as if reading his thoughts.

“Oh my god, you’ve actually got him. He’s yours! My clever little fox!” she beams, wrapping her arms around him in a quick hug, “I knew you’d have him reeling in no time.”

Regulus closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the victory, the thrill of it settling in his chest. He can practically picture James, frustration growing with every ignored call, finally breaking and sending this bouquet in a grand, desperate attempt to get his attention. It’s delicious, knowing that he’s got James Potter exactly where he wants him.

Lily nudges Regulus with a knowing grin, her fingers drumming playfully against his shoulder.

“You know,” she begins, her tone light but suggestive, “you have to call him. The poor guy’s been left hanging all morning. He’s probably losing it right now, considering he’s already jumped to the bouquet stage.”

Regulus tilts his head, considering her words. The thought of keeping James dangling, on the edge of frustration and obsession, does have its appeal. He can picture it—James sitting by the phone, checking it every few seconds, biting his lip in anticipation. It’s tempting, deliciously so, to just leave him waiting.

But then Mary chimes in. “She’s right, Reg. Balance, remember? You’ve gotta give as much as you take. Leave him hanging, then reel him back in. If he thinks you’re just playing cold, he’ll stop trying. You’ve got to throw him a line now and then.”

Regulus sighs, a smirk tugging at his lips. It’s a fair point. A carefully crafted chase demands balance, a rhythm of push and pull. Ignoring James all morning has set the stage, but if he plays his cards right now, he can make James fall even harder.

“Alright, fine,” he concedes, and Lily and Mary exchange excited glances. Together, they lift the enormous bouquet and carry it through to the bedroom, where they settle it on his dresser with as much reverence as if it were a piece of fine art. The room is filled with the scent of peonies, the soft pink of the blooms lending a dreamy warmth to the space.

The three of them flop onto the bed, Lily and Mary on either side of him, leaning close as if this is some grand conspiracy. Regulus finally reaches for his phone, which has been off since this morning. As it powers on, the screen floods with notifications—dozens of missed calls, texts, and voicemail alerts. It’s a mixture of messages from Sybill and a staggering number from James.

“Oh my god,” Mary whispers, stifling a laugh as she watches the flood of missed calls appear. “He’s really going all in, isn’t he?”

Lily giggles, glancing over at Regulus with a conspiratorial look. “He’s done for, Reg.”

Regulus lets a triumphant grin spread across his face. “Perfect.”

Taking a steadying breath, he taps James’ number. The phone barely rings once before it’s answered.

“Hello? Regulus?” James’ voice comes through, breathless and laced with relief. There’s a hint of tension there, like he’s been holding his breath all morning, waiting for this exact moment.

Regulus smirks, triumphant. He can hear it in James’ tone—the man is already far gone, dangling on the edge, just as he wanted.

“Hi, James,” he says smoothly, his voice calm, as though he hadn’t intentionally ignored him for hours. “I received the flowers.”

James’ breath catches, and there’s a brief, hopeful silence before he speaks again.

“Did... did you like them?”

There’s a note of anxiety, almost desperate, and Regulus relishes it. But he knows how to keep things balanced—he can’t be too cold, not now. So he lets a touch of warmth slip into his voice.

“They’re beautiful, actually,” he says, lingering just a second too long. “It’s just…” He trails off, letting the pause fill the air, drawing it out until he knows James is hanging on his every word. “It’s a bit... concerning, how you found my address without me giving it to you.”

There’s a slight rustle on the other end, and James lets out a quiet, apologetic laugh, as if he knows he’s caught. “I know—I’m sorry. That probably came across… intense. I just—” He falters, then takes a breath. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Lily and Mary stifle their squeals, eyes wide with excitement, and Regulus allows himself a small smile. He holds his breath, letting silence fill the line. 

He knows exactly what he’s doing—James is likely leaning closer, straining to catch any sound, any hint that Regulus might be swayed. The silence stretches, calculated and careful, and Regulus can almost picture the look on James’ face. A mix of anticipation, impatience, and the growing desperation that Regulus knows so well in men like him.

“Regulus?” James’ voice finally breaks the silence, his tone laced with thinly-veiled impatience. “So… are we seeing each other tonight? Can we?”

Regulus considers the question for a second longer than necessary. Then, with a low hum, he answers, “Hmm. I’m not sure, James. I’ve got plans. It might be hard to—”

“Please,” James cuts in, that touch of impatience melting into something almost pleading. There’s a warmth to his voice now, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll cook a dinner for you. I want to cook for you. Just… say yes. Please.”

A thrill dances up Regulus’ spine. Hearing James like this—practically begging—feels like a small victory. He’s not just toying with him anymore; he’s got him tangled in the web, ensnared, ready to do anything to keep him close. It’s intoxicating, and for a moment, Regulus nearly gives in.

But that would be too easy.

“Cooking, hmm?” Regulus says instead. “And what exactly is your skill level in the kitchen? I mean, is it really worth dragging myself across town for?”

There’s a beat of silence on James’ end, but Regulus can hear the faint sound of a relieved exhale. James lets out a breathy, almost nervous laugh.

“I promise, you’ll be impressed. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it perfect.”

Regulus keeps his tone indifferent, almost bored, as if he’s weighing his options. But he can feel the excitement building beneath his calm exterior. James Potter, hanging on his every word, practically willing to do anything to get him to say yes.

Next to him, Lily and Mary are watching the scene unfold, wide-eyed with barely-contained excitement. They lean closer, as if they could somehow listen in. Lily’s eyes are lit with excitement, and Mary bites her lip to stifle a laugh, her face a mixture of disbelief and delight. Both of them are nodding wildly, almost vibrating with anticipation. They’re mouthing silently at him, “Say yes, say yes!”

Regulus glances at them out of the corner of his eye, lifting a single finger as if to say, patience.

Then he lets a quiet, reluctant sigh slip into the phone.

“Alright,” he says finally, his tone cool and casual, as though he’s simply agreed to a routine meeting, “I’ll come.”

The rush of relief in James’ voice is immediate and almost tangible, like a weight has lifted from his shoulders.

“Great,” he says, a warmth in his voice that he barely conceals, “Just text me when you’re ready, and I’ll send a car for you.”

A car? Regulus has to bite back a smirk at the lengths James is going to now, bending over backward just to get him to show up. He says nothing, only lets a small, unreadable smile curve at the edge of his lips as he holds the silence for another moment.

Then, with an almost theatrical slowness, he ends the call without saying goodbye.

Regulus stares at the phone screen for a moment, watching as the call icon disappears. It’s done. He’s left James hanging, dangling in that slight uncertainty, leaving him to wonder just why Regulus ended the call so abruptly. He can practically feel James’ confusion, his mind no doubt racing to interpret the gesture. It’s all a part of the game. Give, then take away just as he starts to relax.

Regulus sets the phone on the bed, letting the smug satisfaction bloom in his chest.

“Oh my god,” Lily breathes, her face a mixture of shock and adoration. She flops backward onto the bed beside him, giggling. “You just left him hanging like that?”

Mary is practically bouncing with excitement, her hand resting on Regulus’ arm, “A car? He’s sending a car for you? Reg, he’s head over heels.”

Regulus allows himself a small, private smile, sinking back into the bed with his hands behind his head. This is exactly where he wants James. He can feel the thrill coursing through him, the thrill of knowing James is likely sitting there right now, confused and desperate, trying to figure out what’s happening on the other end of that cut-off call.

It’s not just a chase. It’s a masterfully controlled game, and Regulus is holding all the cards.

“He’s done for,” Mary says, shaking her head with a grin. “I mean, you’re actually going to make him go through all this, aren’t you?”

Regulus closes his eyes, savoring the thought, “Of course,” he murmurs, a satisfied smile playing on his lips, “He doesn’t even know what he’s gotten himself into yet.”

“Oh my god, Reggie!” Mary cries, clutching his arm again in disbelief, her face split into a grin, “This article? It’s going to be legendary.”

“It’ll be iconic, more like,” Lily agrees, clapping her hands, her eyes gleaming with admiration, “You’ve got him so tangled up, he’s practically begging. This is everything we dreamed of!”

Regulus can’t help but let a smug smile play across his lips. The idea of it, of everything falling perfectly into place, makes his heart beat just a little faster.

“Oh, it’ll be magnificent,” he says, his voice a smooth purr, as if he’s savoring the very thought of it. He looks between his friends, the thrill of victory unmistakable in his eyes, “By the time I’m done, this piece will be the best thing The Daily Prophet has ever published.”

Mary and Lily laugh, nodding enthusiastically as they settle beside him, mirroring his triumphant grin.

“Hell, he might even want a subscription after this,” Lily teases, nudging him.

Regulus chuckles, arching a brow, his smirk widening, “Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised,” he replies, voice dripping with satisfaction. Because with every call, every desperate gesture, James Potter is giving him exactly what he needs for the story of a lifetime.

And Regulus knows it’s going to be spectacular.

༻༺

James stirs the saucepan carefully, watching as the cranberry sauce thickens into a deep, rich red. The tangy-sweet aroma fills the kitchen, mixing with the subtle scent of rosemary and thyme from the roast duck on the counter. He’s been at this for hours, ever since he bolted out of work with an unapologetic wave to Gideon and Fabian, who had only rolled their eyes and told him to go secure the damn contract already. The stakes couldn’t be higher, after all, and they knew exactly what that meant.

The knock at the door pulls James out of his anxious spiral, his heart jumping into his throat. For a moment, he stands frozen, gripping the handle of the saucepan on the stove like a lifeline. This is it. The moment he’s been obsessing over since Regulus agreed to come.

He takes a breath, trying to compose himself, though his pulse pounds in his ears. He quickly scans the space one last time—table set perfectly, candles flickering just right, the plates gleaming under the soft glow. The duck is resting on the counter under foil, sauce simmered to perfection, the smell of rosemary, citrus, and cranberries filling the air like a promise.

James wipes his palms on his jeans, adjusts the hem of his red sweater, and runs a hand through his hair out of habit, though it does nothing to tame the wild waves that refuse to cooperate. With a frustrated huff, he gives up, deciding that if Regulus doesn’t like unruly hair, well, that’s too damn bad.

Then the knock sounds again, and James throws a quick glance toward the flickering candles. Everything is set. It has to be perfect.

With a breath, he walks to the door, brushing off the imaginary crumbs on his sweater one last time, and pulls it open.

And there he is.

Regulus, standing with that same cool elegance he always seems to carry, but dressed in a sweater so unexpectedly adorable that it makes James’ heart skip a beat. The sweater is a soft, pastel blue, patterned with tiny white sheep, as if Regulus has wandered straight out of some impossibly charming dream. It’s the sort of thing that shouldn’t fit his sharp, detached demeanor—and yet, somehow, it does. It makes him look ridiculous, but in a way that’s utterly endearing, painfully perfect.

And Regulus’ makeup—God, his makeup. Light, subtle, but flawless. A soft blush dusts his cheekbones, his eyes framed with a hint of mascara, and his lips are tinted just enough to make them look kissable. James can’t decide if he wants to laugh at how absurdly perfect Regulus looks, or just give in to the urge to stare.

"Hi," Regulus says, voice smooth and quiet, like this is all no big deal, as if he hasn’t just disarmed James completely with that sheep sweater and soft, deliberate beauty.

James swallows, trying to pull himself together. "Hi," he breathes, the word coming out rougher than he intended. His gaze flickers—briefly, involuntarily—down to the hem of the sweater, where the little sheep graze happily in pastel peace. It’s surreal, and it’s unfair how much he likes it.

He steps back, clearing his throat.

"Come in," he says, waving Regulus inside with what James hopes looks like nonchalance.

Regulus steps in, his soft-soled sneakers padding quietly on the hardwood floor. The scent of his cologne, warm and slightly woodsy, follows him into the room, making James feel like the space has instantly gotten smaller, more intimate. James catches himself staring for a second too long and forces his gaze away before Regulus can notice.

The candles glow softly on the dining table, casting a warm light over the wine glasses and perfectly arranged place settings. Regulus’ eyes flicker toward the setup, clearly taking in the romantic effort, but James jumps in before he can say anything.

“It’s, uh… a surprise,” James blurts, stepping quickly toward the kitchen, cutting off any chance for Regulus to snoop. The food is his ace in the hole, and he’s not about to ruin the reveal.

Regulus quirks a brow, lips curving ever so slightly.

"A surprise, huh?" he says, amusement flickering in his voice. That faint, infuriatingly charming smirk, like he already knows exactly how hard James has worked for this and finds it mildly entertaining.

James grins, feeling a little more in control now. “Yeah, no peeking. You’ll have to wait.”

Regulus shrugs, seemingly unbothered, and walks further into the room with the kind of unhurried ease that drives James both insane and captivated. The way he moves—graceful, measured, like nothing ever ruffles him—makes James feel a little off-kilter, like he’s always two steps behind.

James clears his throat and gestures toward the dining table.

"Wine? I already opened a bottle."

Regulus glances at the glasses, then back at James, tilting his head as if considering his options. For a brief, maddening moment, he just stands there, letting the silence stretch, the same way he had earlier on the phone, just long enough to make James feel like he’s the one chasing.

Then, finally, Regulus gives a small, nonchalant nod.

"Sure," he says, as if James hasn’t been running himself ragged trying to make this night perfect.

James grabs the bottle from the counter, pouring the wine carefully, doing his best to keep his hands steady. Every small interaction with Regulus feels like a balancing act, the need to impress, but not too much. To show interest, but not seem desperate.

As he hands Regulus the glass, their fingers brush briefly, and James feels the faintest jolt, like a live wire sparking. Regulus, of course, gives no indication that he even noticed. He just takes the glass and settles into one of the chairs at the dining table, crossing his legs casually.

James watches him for a moment, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling slightly out of his depth. He’s used to being the one in control, the one leading the charge, making the moves. But Regulus is impossible to read, always calm, always just slightly out of reach.

And yet… there’s something about the way Regulus looks at him tonight. A flicker of interest, maybe, or just amusement that makes James feel like he still has a shot.

He takes a breath, offering a small grin.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll grab the food.”

As he turns back toward the kitchen, he catches a glimpse of Regulus’ soft smile reflected faintly in the window, and for the briefest moment, James feels like maybe—just maybe—this night will go exactly the way he wants.

Regulus settles gracefully into the chair at the table, his slim frame folding into the candlelit scene with the same deliberate ease he seems to carry everywhere. He glances around, taking in every detail—the tablecloth, the softly glowing candles, the neatly arranged silverware—with a slow, calculating gaze, like he’s assessing the effort put into the night.

A small, amused smile plays on his lips. "You really went all out, didn’t you?" he murmurs, tracing the edge of his wine glass with the tip of his finger.

James shifts under the weight of that gaze, hoping the setup hits the right balance. Romantic but not too much, thoughtful but not obsessive. He clears his throat, trying to keep his tone casual while his pulse thuds like a bass drum.

“I just really wanted to see you.”

The words hang there between them, and Regulus’ lips quirk, just slightly, as if he knows exactly what James is doing, and he likes it.

James lingers a moment longer, just watching Regulus, and then grabs the roasted duck from where it’s resting, carefully transferring it onto a large white serving platter. The skin is perfectly crisp and glistening, the aroma of rosemary and citrus filling the air with a mouthwatering richness.

He ladles the glossy cranberry sauce over the bird, watching it cascade down in rich ribbons. It looks—and smells—perfect. Just the right amount of festive without being over the top, and elegant enough to impress.

"Okay," James mutters under his breath, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. "You’ve got this. Just stay cool."

He takes a breath, gathers himself, and carries the platter out to the table with as much confidence as he can muster. As he places the dish in front of Regulus, he catches a flicker of something in his eyes—something soft, almost wistful, that James can’t quite read.

Regulus stares at the duck for a long moment, the candlelight reflecting faintly in his eyes. His expression shifts to something tender, unexpected. He’s perfectly still, his gaze locked on the dish as if it holds some private meaning. And then, slowly, his lips press together, and his hands come up, waving awkwardly in front of his face.

James freezes, his stomach dropping.

"Regulus?" he asks cautiously, his eyes wide with concern. "Hey—what’s wrong?"

Regulus sucks in a shaky breath, still fanning his hands near his face, like someone trying not to cry. His lips twitch, and his lashes glisten slightly in the candlelight, betraying the sheen of unshed tears.

"It’s nothing, it’s just—" His voice trembles, thin and fragile, and he swallows hard, glancing away from James. "It’s just… it’s a really beautiful dish. Really beautiful," Regulus pauses, blinking quickly as if trying to push the emotion back down. "And you’re…" He trails off for a second, his voice unsteady. "You’re beautiful. And the whole dinner—it’s just…"

Regulus’ voice breaks at the end, and his breath catches, shaky and uneven. His hands hover uselessly at his sides, as if he doesn’t know where to put them.

Something tightens in James’ chest, twisting painfully. Seeing Regulus like this—so unguarded, so on the edge of emotion—it cracks something open inside him. He reaches toward him instinctively, unsure if he’s supposed to comfort or reassure, but he’s stopped dead by what Regulus says next.

"What a shame," Regulus whispers, almost to himself, his lips trembling into a soft, tragic smile. He looks down at the duck with a kind of quiet devastation. "What a shame that I don’t eat meat."

For a moment, the room is utterly silent, the weight of the words hanging in the air, sinking into James’ brain like cold water.

James stares at him, stunned, his heart dropping straight through the floor. The world around him tilts slightly, and he can feel the tension, the careful balance of the evening slip right out of his grasp.

"You—" James stutters, blinking in disbelief. "You… don’t eat meat?"

Regulus offers him a small, apologetic shrug, his beautiful, tear-bright eyes impossibly sincere.

"No. I thought I mentioned that before."

He absolutely did not. James is certain of it. But here he is, sitting across from him, looking delicate and soft and completely unbothered by the utter disaster James is now standing in.

James can’t do anything but gape at him, all the hours of preparation crashing down around him like a slow-motion wreck.

Regulus gives a small, almost bashful laugh, his shoulders shaking lightly as he dabs at the corner of his eye with his sleeve.

"Sorry. It’s just—everything else is so beautiful. Really, it’s lovely."

James stands frozen in place, staring down at the beautifully roasted duck, his masterpiece, now utterly pointless. Hours of work—planning, shopping, cooking, and stressing—completely wasted. All that effort, for nothing.

A low flicker of irritation sparks deep in his chest. He rearranged his entire day for this. Left work early, begged Gideon and Fabian to pick up his slack, spent hours meticulously setting the perfect table, lighting candles, and taming his stupid hair. All of it—for what?

For Regulus to tell him, with wide, glittering eyes, that he doesn’t eat meat.

The spark of frustration threatens to flare, but James smothers it immediately. He can’t let it show—not now, not when everything depends on him being smooth, patient, and charming. He forces himself to stay calm, even as the muscles in his jaw tighten.

He takes a breath, glancing at Regulus, who’s still seated, gazing at James with those soft eyes.

James tells himself it’s fine. It’s fine. Just part of the game. Adjust. Adapt. Win.

The frustration gnaws at him, hot and sharp, but he drags a smile onto his face, the kind that’s supposed to look easy and kind, though it feels more like a mask slipping into place.

“Alright,” he says, his voice a touch too bright. Be the good guy, James. "Let’s go grab something else to eat. How about that?"

To his horror, Regulus’s face lights up.

"Oh, I know the perfect place!" Regulus says, sitting up straighter, the sheep on his sweater shifting with the movement. His voice is animated now, excited in a way James hasn’t seen before. “There’s this vegetarian spot I love—tiny little place, but they make the best snacks ever.”

James’ smile falters for half a second, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Vegetarian. Of course. A tiny little vegetarian place across the city. And here he was, thinking this night would end with a cozy dinner, some wine, maybe Regulus staying over if things went well. Now he’s looking at a midnight trek through London for the best snacks ever.

James catches himself just in time, forcing his clenched jaw to relax. No, no. He can’t screw this up. Not when Regulus is finally, actually excited about something.

He plasters the smile back on his face, nodding as if the idea of a late-night vegetarian adventure thrills him to his very soul.

“That sounds… great,” he says, though it takes every ounce of willpower not to grit his teeth.

Regulus watches him, seemingly oblivious to the internal struggle raging inside James. His expression is so bright, so genuinely pleased, that it makes James’ irritation both worse and harder to hold onto.

James bitesd down on his frustration. The game isn’t over. If anything, this is just another twist. And James Potter doesn’t lose.

Still smiling, he takes a step toward the coat rack, masking his simmering frustration with smooth, easy movements.

"Just let me grab you a jacket," he says, his voice soft and sweet. "It gets cold at night."

He pulls a dark blazer off the rack and holds it out to Regulus, who glances at it with a little nod of thanks. Those wide, blue eyes flicker briefly with something warm—something soft that sends an annoying pang through James’ chest.

Regulus shrugs into the jacket, looking up at James through his lashes, completely oblivious to the hours of effort James just threw down the drain for this moment.

And James smiles down at him, perfectly charming.

"Ready?"

Inside, he’s screaming.

༻༺

The dim lighting and overly pretentious decor of the restaurant make the entire place feel like a parody of itself—exposed brick walls, mismatched chairs that are just uncomfortable enough to be hip, and servers in aprons that cost more than Regulus’ sweater. The menu, though outrageously expensive, is filled with items no one in their right mind would willingly order. And yet, here they are, picking at tiny portions of spelt risotto and something resembling a half-dead asparagus salad.

Regulus pokes at the pile of soggy grains and limp greens on his plate with his fork, doing his best to appear pleased with the meal. It takes all his restraint not to burst into laughter, especially when he glances at James.

The poor man looks like he’s actively dying.

James stares down at his plate like it’s a personal insult, as if the asparagus is challenging him to a duel. His face shifts between horror and reluctant politeness, and Regulus bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. James spears a piece of something unidentifiable, examines it like it’s toxic, and slowly, reluctantly, lifts it to his mouth.

The second it touches his tongue, his expression twists into a look of pure betrayal, like the meal just spat in his face. Regulus barely keeps himself from snorting out loud.

God, he thinks with a wave of dark amusement. Poor guy. He’s really going through it.

James chews—slowly, painfully, as if every bite takes a piece of his soul—and Regulus watches in fascination as James forces the food down with the determination of a man walking to the gallows.

It’s so ridiculous, so over the top, that Regulus has to fight every urge to laugh. He can feel it bubbling up, threatening to break loose at any moment. He covers his mouth with his hand, pretending to adjust his napkin, his shoulders shaking slightly from suppressed amusement.

He forces himself to spear another forkful of the grim spelt concoction, putting it in his mouth with as much grace as he can manage. It tastes like sadness and wet cardboard, but Regulus smiles through it, pretending to enjoy it, like the perfect little liar he is.

As he chews the sad, soggy grains, his mind drifts back to the roasted duck James had prepared earlier. Glorious, golden, crispy-skinned perfection. The memory alone makes his stomach twist with regret. It looked heavenly. For one fleeting moment, Regulus’ whole soul had screamed for just one bite.

But the impulse came—sudden, sharp, and irresistible. The devil on his shoulder whispered: ‘Make him squirm.’ And Regulus, being who he is, couldn’t resist.

So, he lied. On the spot. Told James he didn’t eat meat, right to his face, and watched the poor bastard scramble to rearrange the entire night.

The absurdity of it is almost too much. All that effort, all that careful planning, and James trying so hard to impress him, only for Regulus to knock the whole thing off balance with one tiny, ridiculous lie.

Now, as he sits in this dreadful excuse for a restaurant, chewing on vegetables that taste like wet earth, all he can think about is the burgers Mary makes. Thick, juicy, perfectly grilled beef patties stacked with melted cheese and dripping with sauce.

Regulus’ stomach rumbles quietly at the thought, and he has to hide a grin behind his napkin. Christ, what he’d give for a burger right now.

Instead, he pushes another forkful of green sludge into his mouth, biting down hard on the strange, fibrous asparagus. Across from him, James looks like he might genuinely be sick, and that’s what almost sends Regulus over the edge. He clenches his jaw, fighting back the laughter bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

James makes another valiant attempt to swallow a forkful of what looks like overcooked barley, and his face contorts into a grimace so tragic it’s almost poetic.

Regulus swirls his wine around in his glass, watching James with the air of someone serenely enjoying the moment. Every bit of this is torture for James, and Regulus is basking in it.

God, the lengths James is willing to go to just for a chance at winning him over. Regulus doesn’t even have to do anything. He just has to sit here, pretend the food isn’t horrifying, and watch James slowly unravel.

It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s exactly what he wanted.

And the best part? James has no idea Regulus is loving every second of it.

Regulus leans back slightly in his chair, watching James as he pokes miserably at his sad little pile of asparagus and tries—unsuccessfully—to look like he’s not regretting every second of this meal. The flickering candlelight dances over James’ face, highlighting the tightness in his jaw, the pinched set of his brow, and the faint gleam of sweat at his temple. Poor guy looks like he’s barely holding it together, and Regulus—well, Regulus is thriving.

He swirls the watery wine in his glass, biting back a grin. The whole scene is almost too good.

“So,” Regulus begins, setting his fork down delicately on the edge of his plate. His voice is smooth, deceptively light. "How’s the food?"

James freezes for a fraction of a second—so brief most people wouldn’t notice. But Regulus notices everything.

James shifts in his chair, forcing a smile that’s so painfully fake it’s almost impressive. He clears his throat and gestures vaguely toward his plate, as if pointing to it will convince him it’s edible.

“It’s, uh… really good,” he says, his voice strained but polite. "I mean, I never really thought about… vegetarianism, you know, but… it’s good. Yeah."

Regulus almost chokes on his wine. He has to press his lips tightly together to keep from laughing, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watches James flounder. God, he’s bad at lying. The grimace beneath that forced smile is so transparent it’s almost adorable.

Regulus taps his fingers against the edge of the table, forcing himself to nod seriously, as if he’s buying into the performance.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he murmurs, keeping his face perfectly neutral. Inside, though, he’s nearly doubled over with amusement.

James looks like he’s hanging on by a thread, like one more bite of barley mush might send him over the edge into a full existential crisis. His shoulders are stiff, his jaw locked tight, and he keeps wiping his hands on his napkin like he’s trying to rid himself of the very idea of this meal.

Regulus watches him struggle for a moment longer, savoring every awkward second. But if he stays any longer, he’s going to burst out laughing, and he can’t have that—not yet. He still has a part to play.

With a graceful sigh, Regulus picks up his napkin, dabs at his mouth, and sets it neatly back on the table.

"Excuse me for a moment," he says softly, rising from his seat. "I just need to use the restroom."

James looks up, visibly relieved by the brief reprieve.

"Sure," he mutters, giving Regulus a tight smile that looks more like a grimace. His whole body radiates exhaustion and polite misery.

Regulus doesn’t bother holding back a small, private smile as he turns away. The poor man is barely holding on. He looks like he’d rather gnaw off his own arm than take another bite of spelt risotto, but he’s still sitting there, still smiling, because he thinks that’s what it takes to win.

Oh, James. Regulus shakes his head slightly as he walks away, weaving through the narrow space between tables.

The hallway near the restrooms is dim, quiet, and mercifully far from James’ tortured politeness. Regulus takes a breath, letting himself grin freely now, the sharp edge of mischief lighting his expression. This was supposed to be a chore—a strategic night out with a mark—but now? This is downright fun.

Just as he’s about to head into the restroom, an idea flickers through Regulus’ mind, bold and impulsive, but far too good to resist. A perfectly wicked idea.

He glances around, scanning the hallway, and spots a server near the bar, balancing a tray of empty wine glasses. She’s young, probably in her early twenties, with a look of tired indifference that suggests she’s seen it all before. 

Perfect.

Regulus steps forward, smoothly intercepting her path. She pauses, blinking at him in mild confusion. Before she can ask what he’s doing, he pulls a crisp bill from his pocket—large enough to get her attention—and presses it discreetly into her hand.

Her eyebrows shoot up, but Regulus smiles at her—charming, easy, dangerous.

"I need you to do me a small favor," he says quietly, his voice low enough that no one else in the restaurant can hear.

༻༺

James glances up as Regulus slides gracefully back into his chair, his face composed, that soft blue sweater falling perfectly against his narrow frame. Not a hair out of place, not a single crack in his calm demeanor, as if the entire evening hasn’t been designed to slowly drive James to the brink of insanity.

James forces a polite smile, though his stomach is already twisting in protest at the next inevitable bite of whatever horrifying concoction lies on his plate.

"Everything okay?" he asks, trying to sound casual.

Regulus waves a hand dismissively, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light.

"Oh, I just had to check my makeup," His voice is smooth and disinterested, as if that’s the most normal reason in the world to disappear mid-meal.

James nods, trying not to grit his teeth. He still doesn’t understand why this restaurant was necessary. Hell, why any of this night is necessary. All he knows is that Regulus seems to be enjoying himself immensely, while James sits here, barely holding it together, doing everything in his power not to vomit.

He forces himself to take another small, reluctant bite of the spelt risotto. It’s somehow worse than the last one. The grains are dense and chewy, coated in what tastes like undercooked regret.

James suppresses a grimace, chewing as slowly as possible to avoid gagging. He’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make Regulus Black fall in love with him, no matter what it takes. Even if it kills him.

As he swallows the sad spoonful of misery, a movement catches his eye. The server approaches their table with a practiced smile, her tray tucked under one arm.

“Everything alright over here?” she asks cheerfully, her voice light and polite.

James forces another smile, his throat tightening from the aftertaste of the last bite.

“Yeah, we’re great,” he lies, hoping that will be enough to end the conversation.

Regulus, sitting across from him with the air of someone who is completely in control, echoes James’ response with a soft, smooth, “Perfect, thank you.” 

The server offers a friendly nod and turns to leave—but just as she takes a step away, her notepad slips from her hand. It falls to the ground with a soft thud, and she bends down to pick it up, her back turned toward them.

Right in James’s line of sight.

And there it is. Her ass.

Perfectly, unmistakably framed right in front of him, just inches away. James’ eyebrows shoot upward in surprise, and his whole body stiffens. It’s so sudden, so out of place, that his brain short-circuits for a second.

Oh god. No. No. Don’t look. Look away.

He jerks his gaze away like it’s burned him, but the damage is already done.

And then—

He meets Regulus’ eyes.

Regulus is staring at him, his lips parted slightly in shock, his dark eyes wide with scandalous delight. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s caught James committing the crime of the century.

Shit.

James’ heart drops straight into his stomach.

“I—” he starts, panicked, his brain scrambling for an excuse.

But Regulus doesn’t wait. His mouth curves, and with a dramatic gasp, he exclaims, “You were looking at her ass!”

James’ stomach drops further, and he feels the blood drain from his face.

“I wasn’t!” he blurts, voice sharp with alarm.

“You were,” Regulus insists, his tone full of scandal, as if James has just violated every rule of etiquette known to man. “You absolutely were.”

James’ heart pounds in his chest. This can’t be happening. He looks desperately at the server, praying for mercy. She straightens up, notepad in hand, and turns toward him with a sweet, innocent smile.

“He was,” she chirps cheerfully, her voice light and far too pleased for James’ comfort.

James’ soul leaves his body.

His mouth opens, closes, then opens again, words completely failing him. He can feel the heat crawling up his neck, burning his ears as he stares at the server in disbelief.

“I—” he tries again, but nothing coherent comes out.

This can’t be happening.

James sits frozen in place, his face burning hot enough to rival the candles flickering on the table. The waitress just confirmed it. She said it out loud. His brain scrambles to rewind the last thirty seconds, looking for some escape route, some way to undo what just happened.

“I wasn’t—” he begins again, but then Regulus gasps, scandal written all over his perfect face, one hand flying to his mouth as if James just proposed the most outrageous thing imaginable.

“You want her!” Regulus exclaims, his voice a little too loud, drawing the attention of the nearest table. “You were checking her out because you want her, James!”

James’ jaw drops in pure disbelief, scandal mirroring scandal.

“What are you talking about?” he sputters, completely thrown. The audacity of the accusation hits him like a slap. He can’t tell if he’s more horrified by the idea itself or the fact that Regulus just said it out loud, right here, in public.

"Oh, come on," Regulus says, his tone light and accusatory, as if James has already been found guilty. “You’ve been sitting here this whole time, miserable because you wanted her,” he gestures toward the waitress, who’s now standing politely to the side, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding before her.

“I—what?” James stares at Regulus, completely flabbergasted,.“I did not—”

“You did!” Regulus insists. He gestures at the waitress again, like she’s undeniable proof of James’s guilt. "You were staring right at her ass, don’t even try to deny it."

“I wasn’t!” James snaps, a little too loudly, and he catches a couple of curious glances from nearby diners. He feels the walls closing in on him, the weight of all the amused eyes around them pressing down, making his skin prickle.

“He was,” the waitress chimes in helpfully, as if she’s reading from a script, a sweet smile plastered on her face.

James’ stomach twists with a mix of panic and frustration. He’s a man on a mission tonight, not here to ogle waitresses or make a public fool of himself, but Regulus is pushing every button he has.

James throws his hands in the air, practically seething now.

“I wasn’t! I was just—she dropped her notepad! I turned my head! It wasn’t on purpose!” he’s scrambling, trying to defend himself while feeling more and more ridiculous with every word.

“Oh, please,” Regulus drawls. “You’re practically drooling.”

James groans, rubbing a hand over his face. God, why is this happening?

“Regulus—” he starts, trying to sound calm, but Regulus cuts him off, pressing his advantage with the precision of someone who knows exactly how to make a scene.

“Just admit it, James,” he says smoothly. “It’s okay to want her. She’s cute. You don’t need to hide it from me.”

James stares at him, open-mouthed in disbelief, his brain caught between complete outrage and the overwhelming urge to laugh at how absurd this entire situation has become.

“I don’t want her!” he hisses, glancing helplessly at the waitress. She gives him a bright, unbothered smile, clearly enjoying every second of his misery.

“Ohhh, but you do,” Regulus teases, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. He leans forward, his chin resting casually on one hand, as if this is all some harmless bit of fun. “I can see it in your eyes.”

James slams his napkin down on the table, frustrated beyond words.

“For God’s sake, Regulus—” He cuts himself off, feeling his entire evening slipping through his fingers, utterly derailed by this bizarre, humiliating exchange.

James is still trying to process the fact that Regulus has just accused him of wanting the waitress when, out of nowhere, Regulus turns to the poor woman—who’s still standing there, visibly entertained—and drops a bomb.

“You know,” Regulus says, his tone dripping with vulnerability, “we’re only here because James thinks I’m fat.”

The waitress’s eyes go wide in pure shock, her jaw falling open just slightly as she stares at James with instant, unfiltered judgment.

James’ world tilts sideways.

“What— What the fuck?!” James blurts, leaning forward like the words might physically catch up to Regulus and stop him. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. “I never—What the hell are you talking about?!”

The waitress takes a tiny step back, clutching her notepad like it’s a lifeline. Her gaze narrows, pure disapproval radiating from every inch of her. James can feel the walls closing in on him, panic rising fast and thick in his throat. People at the nearby tables are glancing over now, curious whispers buzzing through the air like flies.

“Oh, you never said it,” Regulus snaps, cutting him off. He looks genuinely offended, like James just kicked his puppy in front of a crowd. “But I know what you’re thinking,” Regulus continues, his voice rising with every word, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot. His face is a perfect storm of wounded pride and righteous fury. “You think I need to cut back—don’t you, James? You didn’t say it, but I know. I know exactly what you mean!”

“Regulus, that’s insane!” James stammers, his pulse hammering in his ears. “I don’t think you’re—What the fuck are you even—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Regulus throws his hands up dramatically, as if James’ very existence is a personal insult. “You agreed to go to this restaurant because you think I’m fat!”

The waitress gasps softly, her expression shifting into full-blown sympathy for Regulus. She turns toward James with a look of absolute disgust, as if she’s about two seconds away from throwing him out herself.

James’ head spins.

“I never said that, Regulus! I don’t think that! You’re making shit up!”

Regulus lifts his chin, his expression beautifully tragic, like a man who’s just been deeply wronged.

“Oh, you don’t have to, James,” he says, his voice low and deadly. “It’s written all over your face.”

James grits his teeth so hard he feels his jaw ache. Every part of this night has spiraled completely out of his control. This isn’t a game anymore—this is a goddamn disaster.

And then, without warning, Regulus pushes his chair back with a loud scrape. He stands, tossing his napkin onto the table like he’s wiping his hands of the entire night.

“That’s it,” he says, throwing a glare over his shoulder as he storms toward the door. “I’m done.”

As he walks away, he calls over his shoulder, “He’ll take care of the check.”

James sits frozen, mouth agape, helplessly watching as Regulus glides toward the exit like some kind of scorned prince.

“No, no, no—” James mutters under his breath, his heart sinking fast. This can’t be happening. He watches in horror as Regulus slips through the restaurant’s front door without a single glance back.

James grabs his wallet, shoving money into the waitress’s hand with an apologetic look, “Here—just—just charge everything,” he says quickly, his voice strained with panic. He doesn’t even care how much the meal costs; he just needs to get out of here.

The waitress gives him a look that screams you’re a terrible person, but she takes the money without a word.

James doesn’t wait. The second she turns away, he bolts from his seat, almost knocking over his chair in his haste.

"Shit, shit, shit," he mutters under his breath as he pushes through the restaurant’s door, his heart hammering in his chest. He can see Regulus’ retreating figure just ahead, slipping into the cool night air with all the elegance.

James’ stomach churns with frustration and desperation. He needs to fix this. He can’t let Regulus walk away—not tonight, not when everything is riding on this.

“Regulus!” he calls, his voice urgent as he jogs after him. “Wait!”

He needs to stop him. He needs to fix this mess, or that contract—and Regulus—will slip right through his fingers.

༻༺

As soon as Regulus steps outside the restaurant, he feels his composure slip, a quiet laugh bubbling up as he puts a safe distance between himself and the scene he just orchestrated. He bites his lip, shoulders shaking, barely able to contain himself. God, that was absurd.

Bless Emmeline, the waitress—she deserves a raise. Regulus hadn’t planned on getting her involved, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. A quick bribe, a little script, and the evening turned into pure comedy. The way she’d chimed in with her sweetly damning “He was”—it had been all Regulus could do not to burst out laughing right there.

Now, as he heads down the dimly lit street, the adrenaline is still thrumming through him, mixing with a fierce satisfaction. He loves being in control, loves watching people twist themselves into knots under his cool exterior. And James? James was practically unraveling.

Regulus lets himself laugh a little louder, just once, relishing the night air and the freedom of knowing he can walk away from the entire ridiculous act. The look on James’ face had been priceless. Complete horror, frustration, and disbelief all mixed together. And he was still hanging on. Still chasing.

But then he hears it—his name, called out sharply from behind.

“Regulus! Wait!”

A small thrill zips up his spine, catching him off guard. For a split second, Regulus’ steps falter, his pulse quickening. He hadn’t expected James to actually come after him. Not after everything he just pulled. Not after making him look like a total fool in front of half the restaurant.

Regulus tamps down the feeling immediately, forcing himself to keep walking, his steps measured and deliberate. But he can hear James’ footsteps picking up behind him, the faint crunch of gravel on the sidewalk.

Damn it. This isn’t supposed to happen. He should be halfway to his apartment by now, leaving James to fume over his empty wine glass and wonder what went wrong. But no, James is apparently too stubborn, or too reckless, or both.

Somewhere deep down, Regulus feels a flicker of irritation mixed with intrigue. He should’ve given up by now, he tells himself, annoyance and curiosity twisting together. After that over-the-top scene, that wildly theatrical outburst… it should have been enough to push anyone away. Hell, even he felt like cringing at his own performance. But James? He’s still coming after him.

As he keeps walking, each step a little slower than the last, Regulus fights the urge to turn around. He wants to see the look on James’ face, to know exactly what emotion is driving him. Anger? Frustration? Desperation? But he doesn’t dare look back. He can’t let James see the hint of a smirk lingering on his lips, the faint thrill simmering beneath his cool exterior.

James’ footsteps grow louder, his breath coming fast as he closes the distance.

“Regulus!” James calls again.

Fuck. He really thought that last stunt would be enough.

Regulus inhales sharply, filling his lungs and steadying himself. He has to switch gears again, to put on the mask he’s been wearing all night—the wounded, dramatic version of himself that he’s conjured just to keep James on edge. The character he’s created is ridiculous, insufferable, and so pathetically insecure that it makes his skin crawl. But it’s working.

He’s glad James can’t see his face at the moment, because he’s fighting back a cringe so strong it nearly makes him flinch. The whole situation is absurd. Here he is, storming away from some upscale nightmare of a restaurant, chased by a man who genuinely seems invested despite the barrage of bizarre scenes Regulus has inflicted on him. If Lily were here, she’d be beside herself, absolutely cackling and showering him with praise for the performance of a lifetime.

His stomach churns with both amusement and secondhand embarrassment. God, how is he going to live this down?

Regulus quickens his pace a bit, but not too much—he wants to give James just enough space to catch up. The thought of what he’s about to do nearly makes him laugh out loud. It’s so over-the-top, so embarrassing, and yet here he is, unable to resist. A slight thrill zips through him as he imagines James’ reaction.

Finally, he draws himself up, lifts his chin, and throws one last glance over his shoulder, just to make sure James is close enough to hear. Then he draws in a dramatic breath, and in his most affected, wounded voice, Regulus shouts, “Don’t follow me, James! Go back to your waitress!”

The words echo into the night air, melodramatic and absurd, and he’s sure he sounds like a character out of some horrible soap opera. Inside, Regulus wants to scream at himself. It’s so embarrassing, so wildly exaggerated, that he’s about half a second away from burying his face in his hands.

But James?

James looks genuinely taken aback, his face falling into a mixture of horror and bewilderment. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again, as though he’s desperately searching for words that will make sense of whatever the hell is happening. It’s a look Regulus would find funny if he weren’t so deep into his own act.

James stumbles, visibly thrown. “Regulus, I don’t—what are you talking about? I wasn’t even—”

Regulus forces a scoff, injecting it with as much offense as he can muster. He keeps walking, holding his head high, even though every instinct is screaming at him to run and never look back.

Inside, he’s cursing himself. God, this is humiliating, he thinks. Absolutely humiliating.

But it’s also deliciously funny. The thought of how ridiculous he looks, of the sheer absurdity of it all, brings a smirk to his lips, hidden by the darkness.

James, somehow undeterred, keeps trying to explain, to break through the haze of fake drama Regulus has crafted.

“Regulus, I didn’t—I wasn’t looking at her! This is insane!”

It really is, Regulus agrees silently, fighting the urge to laugh.

Regulus takes a shaky breath, forcing himself deeper into the melodrama, feeding off James’ baffled expression like it’s fuel for his performance. He throws his hands up, voice laced with outrage.

“If you’re so interested in other people’s asses, you didn’t have to drag me to dinner, James!”

He watches James’ face twist into desperation. It’s entirely absurd, but James isn’t giving up. He reaches forward, his hand catching Regulus’ arm.

Panic flares up, sharp and instinctive.

“Let go,” Regulus snaps, twisting his shoulder back, but James doesn’t let go. His grip is strong, firm, and Regulus can feel the warmth of his hand even through his sweater. “Let. Go.”

But James’ grip tightens, his gaze locked on Regulus with that damn look of determination, of conviction, like he refuses to let him walk away.

"Just listen to me,” he insists.

“James—” Regulus tries to pull back again, but James’s other arm circles around, pulling him in, holding him there.

He’s close. Too close. Regulus’ mind stutters, the words tumbling out of his head, his rehearsed dramatics wavering. James is… he’s really there, all muscle and height, his broad shoulders, his chest, and that intense look in his eyes.

Regulus blinks, thrown off by how solid, how warm James feels, the scent of his cologne hovering just close enough to make his pulse flutter. He forces himself to look up, to meet that fierce gaze head-on.

“This is all a game to you,” he says, his voice softer now, losing some of the exaggerated edge. “You’re just… playing along, and I need something serious, James.”

James’ face softens. Before Regulus can register what’s happening, James leans in—his hand gentle, yet firm on Regulus’ arm, guiding him closer. 

And then James kisses him.

But this isn’t like the kiss from last night. There’s no rough pull, no teasing challenge. This kiss is soft, almost tentative, and Regulus’ eyes slip shut, his heart pounding in his chest as he lets himself fall into it. It’s a gentle, careful exploration, as if James is showing him a part of himself he’s kept hidden.

For a moment, Regulus forgets the game, the act, the story he’s weaving. It’s just him and James, in the quiet of the night, with nothing between them but the soft brush of their lips.

Regulus’ heart pounds as James’ hands move up to cup his face, his thumbs grazing the edges of his cheekbones. James tilts his head, guiding him up, up, up. Regulus forgets for a moment what he’s supposed to be doing.

A small, involuntary sigh escapes him as he relaxes into James’ hands. He can feel his carefully constructed walls slipping, the boundaries blurring, and for the first time, he’s not sure where the act ends and he begins.

When James finally pulls back, Regulus blinks, momentarily dazed. He meets James’ eyes, and there’s a look there—something so gentle and open that it nearly undoes him. James’ expression is calm, assured, like he’s fully in control of the moment in a way that leaves Regulus breathless.

“Calmed down yet?” James murmurs.

Regulus’ mind races. The words won’t come. He realizes, with a surge of both shock and dread, that James actually has succeeded in calming him, quieting all his carefully planned dramatics and pulling him into this silent, honest intimacy that feels almost… steadying.

But he can’t let that happen. This isn’t supposed to be real. Regulus is supposed to be in control, twisting James into knots, keeping him guessing, and playing his own game.

With a shaky breath, Regulus tries to bring himself back, to remember the stakes—the article, the plan, the endgame he’s been so carefully orchestrating. He forces a small, tight smile, hoping it’ll disguise the way his pulse still races, how his hands still tremble just slightly.

But deep down, he knows the truth.

James might be capable of cracking his defenses.

Chapter Text

Regulus sits back, picking at his croissant as he tries to shake off the faint, lingering memory of last night. The kiss. No matter how he tries to rationalize it, that kiss won’t leave his mind. The tenderness, the gentleness—it’s everything he didn’t expect from someone like James Potter. It’s been rattling around in his head since he woke up, like an itch he can’t quite reach.

Across the table, Lily is staring at him, her mouth open in awe, completely forgetting her salad as he recounts last night’s events. Her expression shifts between shock, delight, and barely-contained laughter every few seconds. Mary sits beside him, one arm slung casually over the back of his chair, grinning like she’s watching the best show of the year.

“So let me get this straight,” Lily says slowly, her voice filled with amusement. “You pretended to have a breakdown about his imaginary crush on the waitress, stormed out, and then he chased after you… and kissed you?” Her face lights up in scandalized delight. “Please, I need every detail about this kiss.”

Regulus rolls his eyes behind his black sunglasses, shifting in his chair as he tries to find a casual way to describe it. He has to keep his voice nonchalant, as if it hadn’t left him feeling oddly shaken.

“It was… gentle,” he mutters, attempting a dismissive wave of his hand. “Tender enough. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, really?” Lily leans in, arching a brow, her voice dripping with skepticism. “That kind of kiss doesn’t mean anything?”

“It doesn’t,” Regulus insists, folding his arms over his chest. “He’s just trying to keep me interested. Trying to win me over for whatever insane reason he’s got in mind. You know how it is—men like that don’t do real anything.”

Mary, who’s been quietly watching him with that annoyingly perceptive look she always has, reaches over. She tugs his sunglasses off his nose, pushing them up into his curls, and plants a quick, affectionate kiss on his nose.

“Reggie,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, “you’re overthinking this.”

Regulus huffs, brushing his hair back and giving her an indignant look, though he can’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Mary’s grounding presence always has a way of pulling him back.

"Maybe," he murmurs, still struggling to banish the memory of James’ hands on his face, the quiet intensity in his eyes. But he shakes his head, steeling himself. “It’s just a game. He’s only being charming for the sake of it.”

Regulus says it with finality, hoping they’ll believe him, or that he’ll believe it himself.

Lily lets out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Alright, alright, we believe you. But just for the record, I’m not convinced.”

Regulus leans back in his chair with a defiant look. “I don’t care what he actually wants,” he says, keeping his tone sharp. “This is about the article. I need to draw him out, turn this into something people will actually want to read, something… grand.” He can feel the determination building, pushing back against the lingering doubts from last night. James’ gentleness isn’t supposed to matter.

Mary, who’s been watching him thoughtfully, raises an eyebrow. “And are you seeing him tonight? Or was that kiss a final farewell?”

Regulus hesitates, his gaze flicking away for a brief second. “He sent me tickets to some basketball game,” he mutters, gesturing dismissively, as if it’s nothing. “Two, actually. Sent them by delivery this morning. I haven’t called him back yet.”

At that, Lily’s eyes widen with delight, and she sets her fork down, leaning forward. “Well, you can’t just leave him hanging. The game has to keep going,” she says, her voice tinged with mischief. “If he’s chasing you like this, there’s a real chance he’s falling for you.”

Regulus lets out a small, annoyed laugh, but he nods a few times, thinking it through. There’s a thrill in this, the thought of making James fall deeper. After everything he’s done to maintain the game—his walls, his carefully constructed persona—it would be… satisfying to see it work. To make him care.

Finally, Regulus leans forward, his fingers tapping idly on the table as he studies his friends.

“Fine. I’ll call him back. Later. I’ll agree to the game.”

Lily and Mary exchange a knowing look, their smiles widening. Mary gives him a gentle nudge on the shoulder, grinning.

“Good. Just… make sure he’s exactly where you want him. You know, wrapped around your finger.”

Regulus smirks, nodding, feeling the resolve settle in his chest. It’s time to bring this game to a new level.

Mary leans forward, her eyes glinting with excitement as she gestures toward him. “So, what time’s this big game tonight?”

Regulus pulls the crumpled tickets from his pocket, glancing at them almost reluctantly. "Seven," he mutters, setting them down on the table.

The weight of the evening ahead presses on him, each minute passing feeling like it’s building toward something he’s not sure he’s ready for. It should be simple: show up, play the role, keep James right where he wants him. But after last night, his own feelings seem a little too close to the surface.

“Oh, perfect timing!” Lily’s voice breaks through Regulus’ thoughts. Her expression shifts from delight to something mischievous as she taps her fork against her plate, a knowing gleam in her eyes. "You have to be absolutely unbearable tonight,” she insists, pointing her fork at him like she’s making a declaration. “No holding back. If you’re going to play, Regulus, you better make it memorable.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, feigning indifference, though a slight, reluctant smile creeps onto his face. The thought of causing a little chaos at the game, being difficult just to keep James off balance, feels oddly satisfying.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says with a small smirk, though his chest feels heavy. “I’ll make it hell.”

But the amusement doesn’t fully settle, and the memory of James’ hand on his cheeks, the way he’d looked at him, creeps back, softening Regulus’ determination. The game is supposed to be straightforward, but lately, he can’t ignore the nagging feeling that something is slipping out of his grasp.

Sensing his hesitance, Mary reaches over and gives his shoulder a gentle shake. “Come on,” she says, her voice soft but reassuring. “We have a whole afternoon ahead of us. Why don’t we get a little liquid courage in you first? A martini or two never hurt, right?” She raises a hand, catching the eye of the server and gesturing for him to come over.

Regulus lets out a small chuckle, pushing his sunglasses back down over his eyes as if that will somehow mask the unease he’s been trying to ignore. The shade provides a bit of armor, letting him hide behind the cool, unaffected mask he’s so carefully constructed.

The waiter approaches, a slight bow of his head as he places a cocktail menu on the table.

“Anything I can bring you?” he asks smoothly.

“Yes,” Mary says with a wide grin, glancing at Lily, who nods in enthusiastic agreement. “Three martinis to start,” She gives Regulus an encouraging wink. “After all, if you’re about to be the worst date ever tonight, you may as well go in with a good dose of bravado.”

Regulus raises his glass of water in a mock toast, a wry smile on his lips. "Here’s to unforgettable evenings.”

The words come out smoothly, but there’s an edge to them that he can’t quite dismiss. As he sets his glass back down, he catches Mary watching him with a slight frown, her expression more perceptive than he’d like.

“Hey,” she murmurs quietly, leaning in just slightly. “Don’t overthink it. You’ve got this. Just keep him guessing.”

Regulus lets out a small laugh, more for show than anything. The afternoon ahead is still theirs, full of laughter and martinis and sunlight streaming through the cafe windows. He nods to her, grateful for the reassurance, even if it doesn’t quite dispel the strange feeling lingering in his chest.

The waiter returns with their drinks, setting down the trio of martinis with practiced elegance. They clink their glasses, Lily giving him a wicked grin.

“To tonight’s game,” she toasts, the glint of amusement in her eyes infectious. “And to you, being a complete nightmare.”

Regulus takes a sip, feeling the sharp edge of the drink slide down his throat, giving him the courage he’ll need later. He offers them a small, confident nod, leaning back in his chair, letting the mask slip back into place. Whatever tonight holds, he’s going to face it head-on.

༻༺

James paces back and forth across his apartment, the weight of his phone like a stone in his hand. Every few steps, he taps the edge of it against his palm, a repetitive, nervous rhythm that’s doing nothing to calm him down. He wants to call Regulus, wants to send some casual text to remind him about the tickets he sent over this morning. Just to check if he’s coming. But something stops him every time his thumb hovers over the screen.

What if he’s being too pushy?

He pauses, glancing at the tickets still sitting on the coffee table, each one neatly tucked into a little envelope. He thought about texting, but there’s a risk in that—a risk that maybe the tickets were already too much. What if it makes him look desperate?

Regulus hasn’t responded to the tickets, hasn’t even acknowledged them with a quick text or a call. And now James is left wondering if he’s crossed some invisible line, like he’s already blown his chance without even realizing it. He sighs, looking down at his phone again, the silence of his apartment pressing down on him.

It was that kiss. That’s what’s really messing with his head.

Yesterday, holding Regulus in his arms, feeling him relax just slightly, seeing that flash of something open in his eyes, it had been so different. That kiss had been softer, gentler, and somehow, he’d wanted it to be. James’ usual confidence felt strange around Regulus; something about him made him want to tread carefully, to linger instead of rushing forward.

He scrubs a hand over his face, feeling the flush of frustration creeping up his neck. He knows how to impress someone, how to make them laugh and fall a little harder, and yet here he is, feeling more uncertain than he ever has before. All because of one soft kiss that’s left him wondering if he’s the one who’s really falling.

Yesterday, in the restaurant, James had caught a glimpse of Regulus’ phone screen as he’d walked away to the restroom. It had shown a notification from one of those sports apps, something about the Harpies game. It was a tiny detail, hardly anything to go off, but he’d taken a chance on it, thinking that maybe Regulus would appreciate the gesture. Now, though, James is second-guessing everything.

What if Regulus thought the gesture was too much? Or worse, not enough?

James sighs, his pacing growing more erratic as he considers all the ways tonight could go wrong. He can feel his grip tightening on the phone, and he forces himself to loosen his fingers, taking a slow breath. The last thing he wants is to push too hard, to scare Regulus off just when things are beginning to feel… real.

His gaze drifts back to the coffee table. The tickets stare up at him, reminding him of just how much is at stake here; both for the contract and for… whatever else this is turning into.

But damn it, if he doesn’t hear from Regulus soon, he might just lose his mind.

James stops mid-pace, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to clear his head. He tells himself, over and over, that this is about the contract. That’s the whole point of all this—the Harpies game, the chase, the tickets. Horcrux Diamond. Right? He takes a steadying breath, trying to shake off the lingering memories of the way Regulus had looked at him yesterday, his eyes softened, that split second of vulnerability.

It would be easier if Regulus weren’t so… distracting. It’s just that, somehow, Regulus has managed to sidestep every one of James’ usual tricks, throwing him off balance at every turn. And damn, he’s intriguing, too. Smart, quick, sharper than anyone James has ever dealt with, and…

And gorgeous. Really, honestly gorgeous.

James bites down on that thought, trying to shove it to the back of his mind. This is about the contract, about proving he can handle any challenge. This is about pulling in Horcrux Diamond and finally getting Lestranges to stop side-eyeing him in meetings. And yet, every time he remembers the way Regulus had softened into that kiss last night, all his resolve crumbles.

“Get it together, Potter,” he mutters, snapping himself back to reality. This is just business. He glances down at his phone, almost resolved to dial Regulus and just play it cool. But just as his thumb hovers over the call button, his phone lights up, buzzing in his hand.

The name on the screen makes his heart stutter.

Regulus.

James stares at the screen, almost in disbelief. But he pulls himself together, clearing his throat and answering, trying to sound casual, “Hello?”

There’s a pause, then a soft, almost hesitant voice on the other end, “Hey. I, uh, I got the tickets,” Regulus says, his tone quiet but certain, like he’s carefully picking each word, “Thanks for the invitation.”

James exhales, relief flooding him as he leans against the edge of the counter, a grin spreading across his face despite himself.

“I’ll be ready by six,” Regulus continues, his voice steadying. It’s all he says, but there’s a softness there that leaves James off-balance all over again, his chest tightening just a little too much.

“Great,” James replies, struggling to keep the thrill out of his voice, “I’ll pick you up.”

“Alright,” Regulus says, and there’s a brief pause, almost like he’s lingering just a second too long before hanging up.

The line goes dead, and James stares down at his phone, his heart hammering in his chest.

James is still staring at his phone, the memory of Regulus’ quiet voice replaying in his mind, when the doorbell rings, snapping him out of his thoughts. He frowns, not expecting anyone, and strides over to answer it.

As soon as he opens the door, Gideon and Fabian barrel in, each holding an armful of snacks—chips, drinks, and even a half-dozen different types of popcorn, “Look who’s here!” Fabian grins, nudging past him, already making himself at home.

“Thought we’d drop in, check on you,” Gideon says with a smirk, setting a bag of chips on the counter and eyeing James with an expression that suggests they’re here for information more than anything else.

James rolls his eyes, shutting the door as he watches the pair of them invade his kitchen, “Oh, great, make yourselves comfortable,” he mutters, but he can’t help a small grin.

They’re barely in the door before the questions start.

“So?” Fabian says, plopping onto the couch, opening a bag of chips with a loud crunch, “How are things going with your little… project?”

James groans, rubbing his temples, wondering how to explain last night’s disaster without losing his mind all over again, “Well, there was a bit of a… scene yesterday,” he admits, cringing as the memory comes back to him in full colour, “Regulus basically had a meltdown in the middle of the restaurant. Accused me of being interested in the waitress, stormed out.”

Gideon raises an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle, “Damn. He’s a piece of work, huh?”

“More than that,” James mutters, leaning against the counter, trying to find the right words, “He’s… complicated.”

“Oh?” Fabian says, arching an eyebrow, “Complicated as in good complicated, or complicated as in ‘run for the hills’?”

James shrugs, fighting back a smile, “I don’t know, honestly. It was… intense. But then, somehow, we ended up… kissing,” he says it a little awkwardly, like he’s confessing something private, and Gideon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Again?” Gideon asks, a knowing look flashing across his face, “That guy doesn’t make things easy for you, does he?”

“No, he really doesn’t,” James sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “He’s honestly… exhausting,” but even as he says it, there’s something softer in his voice. The memory of that second kiss is still fresh, warm, tugging at him in a way James can’t quite ignore.

Gideon chuckles, shaking his head, “And yet, here you are, inviting him to basketball. You’re a glutton for punishment, Potter.”

James scoffs, but he can’t deny it, “I figured… I mean, I noticed he got a sports update on his phone yesterday,” he admits, feeling a little ridiculous for having gone to such lengths, “Thought he might like it. So I sent over tickets this morning.”

Fabian snickers, folding his arms, “Going all out, aren’t we?”

“Hey, it’s for the contract,” James says quickly and lets out a slow breath, gathering his thoughts as he joins Gideon and Fabian on the couch.

The three of them settle in, but there’s an underlying seriousness in Prewett’s expressions that grounds him. He knows they’re here for more than just snacks and jokes—the stakes are high, and they’re making sure he understands that. As if he could forget.

Fabian stretches his legs out, leaning back with that easy confidence of his, and shoots James a pointed look, “Alright, Jamie,” he says, voice casual but firm, “Tonight’s the night. You’ve got to make little Reggie think you’re boyfriend material,” he gives James a smirk that suggests he’s fully aware of how unnatural this whole situation is.

James nods, rolling his shoulders like he’s psyching himself up for a game. He can do this. It’s just one night, just one guy. Sure, that guy happens to be gorgeous, unpredictable, and utterly immune to his usual charm, but James has dealt with difficult people before. Regulus isn’t different.  

Gideon leans forward, watching him intently, “Do whatever he wants,” he advises, his voice calm but insistent, “You’re there to entertain him, follow his lead, keep him happy. Just… make him feel like you’re really invested.”

James nods again, taking in every word. He knows it’s the right approach, even if the idea of playing a subservient role for the evening makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. Regulus has a way of throwing him off, making him question everything. But tonight, he has to be the perfect partner. Charming, attentive, agreeable. Whatever it takes.

Fabian, who’s been watching the whole exchange with a knowing grin, claps him on the shoulder, “Come on, James. There’s a lot riding on this. Big money,” he raises an eyebrow for emphasis, and James can feel the weight of that reminder settle on him, “You need to step it up, push through, and make him fall for it.”

James inhales, the stakes crystallizing in his mind. This isn’t just a game; it’s a business move. And if he has to play the part of a perfect boyfriend to get it, so be it. He nods, more certain now, his resolve hardening as he mentally prepares for the evening ahead.

Gideon watches him for a moment, a flicker of something like admiration in his expression, “You’re good at this stuff, James,” he says, his tone softer than before, “Just… don’t lose yourself in it, yeah?”

James manages a small smile, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly, “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

But even as he says it, there’s a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminding him of that kiss last night, of the look in Regulus’ eyes, and of how something real slipped through in that moment, something he hasn’t been able to shake. He shoves the thought down, refocusing on the task at hand.

Fabian gives him a final slap on the back, grinning, “Good. Go out there and knock him dead.”

James nods, feeling the adrenaline kick in, a sense of purpose filling him. Tonight, he’ll play his role to perfection, keep Regulus right where he wants him, and secure that contract.

The stakes are high, and he’s ready.

༻༺

Regulus takes a slow, deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he stares at his reflection in the mirror one last time. He’s dressed simply—a casual t-shirt and jeans, nothing too flashy, just enough to blend in at a basketball game. He’s deliberately left out anything that could be considered remotely enticing. Tonight, he’s going for maximum annoyance.

Mary and Lily had left a few minutes ago, each of them firing off final words of encouragement and promises to be on call if he needed anything. They’d made him promise to report back on every detail as soon as the game ended, both too invested in his little performance to let any update slip by.

And now? Now it’s showtime.

A thrill of determination surges through Regulus as he hears the doorbell ring. It’s a reminder: tonight is a game. His game. He’ll play the role he’s crafted—impossibly obnoxious, painfully difficult, pushing every single button James Potter has until the man can’t wait to escape. That’s the plan, and Regulus knows he can do it. He’s convinced himself that he’ll win this. By the end of the night, James will run for the hills.

Straightening his shoulders, Regulus lets a smirk tug at the corner of his lips, pushing down the flutter of nerves that stubbornly lingers. No distractions. Tonight, he’s in full control.

He heads toward the door, pulling it open with an air of casual indifference, only to be met with James standing there, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever. He’s dressed in a fitted jersey and dark jeans, his hair a bit tousled but just enough to look like he’s not trying too hard.

A small, unwelcome flicker of attraction stirs in Regulus’ chest, but he pushes it down, maintaining his carefully crafted expression of mild interest, maybe even a hint of disdain.

“Hey,” James says, a warm smile spreading across his face as his gaze settles on him.

Regulus lets his own smile curve up, but it’s colder, practiced, “Hello,” he replies, as calm and unaffected as possible. He knows the role he has to play tonight: painfully unlikable, borderline obnoxious. He’s fully prepared to do what it takes to wear James down, to make the entire night as horrendous as possible.

He grabs his jacket and locks up, bracing himself for the night ahead.

As soon as the taxi pulls up to the stadium entrance, Regulus springs out of the car, slamming the door just as James leans forward to follow him. He doesn’t even turn around to see James’ reaction—he’s already striding toward the entrance, a small smile playing at his lips. If he’s committed to being difficult tonight, he’s going all in. Today, James Potter is going to regret ever inviting him.

James catches up to him quickly, his face composed, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his expression as they make their way through security. Regulus pretends not to notice, breezing through the checkpoints without so much as a glance back. They weave through the crowd, passing through the buzzing stadium corridors until they find their seats.

When they finally settle in, James glances over, brow furrowed slightly, “Everything okay?” he asks, voice low, with an undertone of genuine curiosity.

Regulus takes a breath, summoning his most radiant, sweetly insincere smile, “Oh, just perfect,” he purrs, holding James’ gaze for a moment longer than necessary before turning his attention to the court. Inside, he’s already strategizing, working out exactly how to make this night as exasperating as possible.

The lights dim briefly, and the teams step onto the court as the crowd erupts in cheers. The energy in the stadium is infectious, and Regulus can feel himself wanting to get excited, but he forces it down, keeping his expression aloof. He’s not here to enjoy himself. He’s here to irritate James, and he’s not going to let a basketball game ruin that plan.

The players sprint onto the court, and the game starts with a sharp whistle blast. James immediately leans forward, his body language shifting as he immerses himself in the game. Regulus watches him out of the corner of his eye, noting the way James’ expression lights up with interest, his focus drawn entirely to the action on the court.

Perfect.

Regulus leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and letting out a loud, exaggerated yawn as if he’s already bored, “So,” he drawls, just loud enough to pull James’ attention away from the game for a second, “Are they just going to, you know… run back and forth the entire time?”

James’ eyes flick over, a slight crease between his brows, but he only smiles a little, nodding, “That’s… kind of the game, Regulus.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, feigning disappointment as he settles back, continuing his fake show of indifference. Every so often, he throws in another offhand, clueless comment, like pointing at a player and loudly asking if “that’s the one with the ball” or noting that the “orange outfits really aren’t flattering.” He’s hoping that each jab will break James’ focus, ruffle him just a little.

But James doesn’t bite. He nods patiently, murmuring simple answers and even cracking an occasional small smile, his eyes never straying from the game for long. Nothing seems to shake him, and it’s driving Regulus mad.

He leans forward, lips pressed into a thin line as he resists the urge to actually get involved in the game he secretly loves. He knows every play, every pass, every technique the players are using, and it’s taking all his willpower not to cheer with the crowd.

When James lets out an excited whoop as the Harpies score, Regulus forces himself to sigh dramatically, just loud enough for James to hear. He rolls his eyes, adding in a faux-bored tone, “Can’t they do anything besides throw that ball around?”

James barely reacts, his only response a faint, amused chuckle, like he’s in on some private joke. It makes Regulus clench his fists in frustration. Why isn’t he taking the bait?

The crowd around them roars with excitement as the game barrels forward, the ball flying from one side of the court to the other with dizzying speed. Regulus leans forward slightly, despite himself, eyes following the Harpies’ captain, Mulciber, as he weaves past defenders with the ball in his hands. The air in the stadium feels electric, every cheer, every stomp reverberating through him. He can feel his own excitement bubbling beneath his skin, but he tamps it down, reminding himself: No. Stay in character.

Out of the corner of his eye, James is completely locked in, sitting on the edge of his seat, his knuckles white as they grip his knees. Regulus watches him for a beat, taking in the way James’ focus sharpens, his whole body practically leaning into the game. There’s a determination in his gaze that makes it clear: James is living for this moment. 

And Regulus is going to ruin it.

He exhales through his nose, forcing a calm, careless expression back onto his face, and leans closer to James, “I want a Coke,” his voice is smooth, casual, but deliberate.

James gives a quick nod without looking away from the court, “Yeah, give me five minutes, okay? The Harpies are—shit, Mulciber might score,” his voice is distracted, already drifting back to the game as the action picks up.

For a split second, Regulus considers letting it go—he really does—but the memory of Lily’s voice in his head echoes like a dare: You have to be completely unbearable.

He straightens in his seat, raising an eyebrow, and lets his gaze harden, “I want it now.”

That gets James’ attention. He turns to look at Regulus fully, his brow furrowed, as if trying to decide if he misheard. The flicker of annoyance is subtle—just a tightening of his jaw—but Regulus catches it instantly. Perfect.

Regulus stares him down, cool and unbothered, letting his silence speak louder than words. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he watches with satisfaction as James’ jaw clenches tighter.

For a second, it seems like James might argue. His nostrils flare slightly, and the frustration flickers in his eyes, just beneath that veneer of the charming, patient guy he’s trying to be. But then, as if reining himself back in, James forces a smile—a bit too tight—and gives a curt nod.

“Of course,” James says, his voice carefully controlled. 

That’s right, Potter. You’re going to jump through every hoop tonight.

James rises from his seat, brushing past Regulus to head toward the concession stand. The tension radiates off him, but he doesn’t say anything else. Regulus watches as he disappears into the crowd, the slightest hint of satisfaction curling at the edges of his mouth.

Finally, alone for a moment, Regulus relaxes into his seat and turns his attention back to the game.

The Harpies are pressing hard against the opposing team’s defense, and Mulciber is practically flying down the court, ball in hand. He leaps gracefully into the air, aiming a perfect shot, and for a second, it looks like it’s going in—but then—

The ball bounces off the rim, missing the hoop by inches.

The crowd lets out a collective groan, and Regulus’ heart drops, his breath catching involuntarily. Damn. He grits his teeth, annoyed at how much the missed shot stings, even though he told himself he wouldn’t care.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. It’s ridiculous how much he loves this game, and even more ridiculous that he’s here, pretending not to, just to get under James’ skin.

Regulus leans back, glancing toward the corridor where James disappeared, half-expecting him to reappear with the Coke. The thought of James missing that near-perfect shot makes Regulus bite back a small, smug smile. Serves you right for walking off, Potter.

And yet, that small victory doesn’t feel as satisfying as it should. Regulus shifts in his seat again, restless. He hates how easy it is for this game to get under his skin. The energy in the stadium—the tension, the near-misses, the roar of the crowd—it all pulls at him, makes him want to lose himself in it. To cheer. To curse. To feel the highs and lows of every play. But no. Not tonight.

Because tonight, his job is to drive James up the wall.

Regulus forces himself to relax, exhaling slowly through his nose, his cool expression slipping back into place. If James thinks this is going to be a fun night with good company, he’s sorely mistaken.

But James… James makes things annoyingly complicated.

Regulus can’t ignore the fact that James could’ve just said no to the Coke. He could’ve told Regulus to wait; most people would’ve. But instead, he smiled through gritted teeth and went to get it, like a dog chasing a bone. As much as Regulus wants to pretend otherwise, there’s a strange thrill in knowing that James Potter is bending to his whims.

And yet, that knowledge leaves him uneasy. Because this is supposed to be a game, but James keeps throwing off the rules. He wasn’t supposed to kiss him like that last night—so softly, so gently. He wasn’t supposed to chase after him, or send flowers, or offer up pieces of himself so freely.

Regulus bites his lower lip, suddenly restless again, the memory of that kiss flashing uninvited through his mind. He shifts in his seat, tapping his finger once against the armrest, and then stops himself. 

No. Stay focused.

He glances toward the court again, just as the Harpies regain possession of the ball. Another shot lines up—

And just as the tension rises again in the stadium, a familiar, bright voice cuts through the hum of the crowd.

“Got your Coke.”

Regulus’ heart stutters for a fraction of a second, and he schools his expression into something lazy and disinterested before slowly turning toward James.

James finally makes it back to his seat, the paper cup of Coke in hand, and leans over to pass it to Regulus. His focus is already halfway back on the court, eyes scanning the players as they zip across the floor. Regulus takes the cup and sips it without a word, ready to stir the pot the second he can.

The first sip is fine, crisp and cold, but that doesn’t matter—he’s committed to the role. He pauses, letting a delicate grimace spread across his face, as if the taste is some kind of personal offense. 

Regulus turns toward James, who’s already back on the edge of his seat, completely absorbed by the action on the court. With an almost theatrical slowness, Regulus reaches out and taps him lightly on the shoulder.

James glances back, distracted, “Huh? What is it?”

Regulus blinks at him innocently, tilting his head slightly, “This isn’t cherry Coke,” his voice is calm, polite even, but there’s just the tiniest edge of mischief beneath it.

James blinks, as if he didn’t quite catch that right, “What?”

Regulus repeats himself with the kind of exaggerated patience reserved for talking to toddlers, “This isn’t cherry Coke.”

The crease between James’ brows deepens, and for a second, his expression is a mix of disbelief and irritation—like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, "You... didn't ask for cherry Coke."

Regulus forces down the grin threatening to spread across his face, instead puffing out his cheeks in mock displeasure. Inside, he’s cringing at his own ridiculousness, but if he’s going to be unbearable, he might as well go all in.

He takes another small, deliberate sip of the Coke and pouts dramatically, “It doesn’t taste good, baby,” he says with a soft, saccharine tone, batting his eyelashes, “I want cherry Coke.”

That does it. Regulus sees the exact moment James’ patience snaps—not all the way, but just enough for it to show in the tight clench of his jaw and the way his fingers twitch, like they’re gripping onto invisible reins to keep himself in check.

James breathes in deeply through his nose, his smile just barely hanging on, though his jaw is so tight Regulus swears he hears a faint crack.

“Sure,” James says slowly, forcing the word out like it physically pains him, “I’ll... go get you cherry Coke.”

Victory tastes sweeter than any Coke ever could. Regulus flashes him a bright, triumphant smile, the kind that is all sugar on the surface and pure smug satisfaction underneath, “Thanks, baby,” he adds sweetly, leaning back into his seat as if this whole exchange had been completely reasonable.

James nods once, the gesture sharp and mechanical, then stands and walks away stiffly, his shoulders tense. It’s obvious—James Potter is two seconds away from losing his cool.

And Regulus revels in it. He takes another sip of the regular Coke with the most insufferable grin plastered across his face, triumph blooming in his chest.

He watches James weave through the crowd, his jaw still visibly tight, and he can’t help but feel a wicked sense of glee bubbling up inside him. James is still playing along, still bending over backward to please him, and it’s delicious to watch his patience unravel.

This is exactly what Regulus needs. The control, the upper hand. He told himself from the start: make him frustrated, make him uncomfortable. And it’s working.

As James disappears into the crowd to retrieve yet another drink, Regulus settles comfortably into his seat, his heart humming with satisfaction. The game is going exactly as planned.

༻༺

The clamor of the crowd feels like nails scraping against the inside of James’ skull as he makes his way to the concessions stand, his mind reeling from the fact that he’s missing the game. His frustration sits heavy in his chest, bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to explode at any moment.

He steps up to the counter and taps an impatient rhythm against the metal surface, faster and faster, like it’ll somehow speed things along. His pulse pounds in his ears, his body practically humming with tension. Just get the damn Coke, Potter. Hold it together. Smile. Be polite.

When the girl behind the counter finally approaches, James plasters on his best smile, thin and strained.

“Cherry Coke, please,” he says, his voice clipped, but he’s trying so hard to sound casual.

The girl nods cheerfully, taking her sweet time as she grabs a new cup and begins slowly filling it from the fountain. Each second drags like molasses. James shifts on his feet, glancing around, his fingers tapping against the counter so fast now that it sounds like a heartbeat.

He glances up at the small TV screen mounted just above the girl’s head—just in time to see Mulciber storming down the court. James’ heart jolts in his chest as the camera zooms in on the Harpies captain, his movements smooth and flawless. Every muscle in James’ body goes rigid.

“No, no, no,” he mutters under his breath, as if the universe might listen. His hands tighten into fists against the counter, eyes glued to the screen.

He knows exactly what’s coming next—it’s written all over Mulciber’s posture, the confident glint in his eye, the way his body is already airborne as he prepares to shoot.

And then it happens. The ball flies perfectly through the air.

James holds his breath. It won’t go in. It won’t—

Swish.

The announcer’s voice crackles through the tiny speaker, “And the Harpies score!”

The crowd on the screen erupts in cheers, and James feels the rage boil over inside him, hot and sharp.

“Fucking hell,” the curse slips out before he can stop it. He slams his palm lightly against the counter, trying desperately to smother the anger rising in his chest.

Mulciber just had to score now, didn’t he? The one moment James leaves, and he misses the play.

The girl behind the counter smiles brightly, completely oblivious to the internal storm tearing through him, “Here you go!” she chirps, handing him the cherry Coke like she’s just solved all the world’s problems.

James takes it with a strained, twitchy grin, clenching the cup just a little too hard, “Thanks,” he grits out, doing everything in his power not to scream.

He turns on his heel and starts walking back toward the stands, his blood simmering with every step. The sound of cheering from inside the stadium walls only makes it worse, reminding him with every echo that he missed the one goddamn moment that mattered.

When he reaches their section, his patience is hanging by a thread. He navigates through the narrow row of seats, the cherry Coke cold against his hand, but the heat of frustration burns beneath his skin.

When he gets to Regulus, he shoves the cup toward him with a sharp, curt movement, as if handing over the drink will help rid him of the irritation gnawing at his nerves.

“Here,” James says, his voice low and tight, “What, they scored?”

He knows the answer already—of course they did. The roar of the crowd had told him everything, and the pit in his stomach twists harder. He just needs to hear Regulus confirm it so he can wallow properly.

Regulus takes the cherry Coke, delicately wrapping both hands around it, like it’s some kind of sacred prize. He tilts his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft, infuriatingly sweet smile.

“Aww, yeah,” Regulus says, his tone as sugary as the drink itself. He leans in just a little closer, and there’s a glint in his eye that James knows all too well—the look of someone savoring a victory.

Regulus raises the cup to his lips and takes a slow, deliberate sip, like he’s drinking pure satisfaction. Then, as if to twist the knife just a little deeper, he leans in closer and presses the barest kiss to James’ cheek.

It’s quick—just a fleeting brush of lips—but the gesture is infuriating in its softness, in its quiet triumph.

“How unfortunate,” Regulus murmurs softly, his voice dripping with sympathy. He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet James’ gaze, and his smile widens, “It’s such a shame you missed it.”

James’ jaw locks so tight it feels like it might snap. He stares at Regulus, his brain screaming with a dozen different things he wants to say, but none of them will help right now.

God, this man is driving him insane.

James drops heavily into his seat, the weight of frustration sitting square on his chest like a lead weight. He stares at the court, trying to shake off the sting of annoyance. He missed the shot. He missed the one thing he was dying to see, and now he’s stuck next to the smug bastard who made him miss it in the first place.

Regulus sits beside him, delicately sipping his cherry Coke like he didn’t just ruin James’s night. He looks so pleased with himself, every movement small and precise, like a cat that just knocked something off a shelf and is now basking in its own chaos. The crowd cheers and gasps around them as the game continues, but James can’t focus.

His irritation simmers just beneath the surface, creeping into the way he taps his fingers against his knee and how his jaw twitches every time Regulus makes some innocuous little comment about the game. James does his best to smile and respond politely, but it feels like chewing on broken glass.

The game drags on, each minute feeling longer than the last. James isn’t even sure if he’s rooting for the Harpies anymore—everything has just blurred into a haze of suppressed frustration and forced patience. He wants this night to end.

Finally, the final buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts in cheers as the Harpies win. Confetti falls from the ceiling, the announcer’s voice booming through the stadium speakers.

James watches the players high-five each other on the court, trying to muster some joy for the Harpies’ victory, but it’s difficult with the tight coil of annoyance wound up inside him.

Next to him, Regulus shifts in his seat, his lips pulling into a pleased smile, and James forces himself to exhale slowly, willing his temper down.

Then Regulus turns to him, that damn mischievous glint still shining in his eyes, and nudges James playfully in the ribs.

“Why so grumpy?” Regulus asks, his voice light, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, “Didn’t you have fun?”

James feels his jaw tighten, but he presses his lips into a tight smile. It’s an effort to keep his voice even, “I had a great time,” he lies, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

Regulus hums, sipping from his cherry Coke, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

They gather their things and shuffle out of the stadium with the rest of the crowd. James keeps his head down, trying not to think too hard about how he ended up in this situation.

As they step outside into the cool night air, Regulus walks beside him, his cherry Coke still in hand. The drink looks ridiculously large in his slender fingers, and the way he holds the straw between his lips—careful and delicate, with just a hint of casual elegance—is so annoyingly endearing that it makes James’ stomach twist.

God. He looks adorable. James hates it, hates the way it makes something unfamiliar and unwelcome curl in his chest.

Regulus takes a slow sip of his drink, seemingly unaware of the effect he’s having, and glances at James, raising one eyebrow in that infuriating, graceful way of his.

He looks perfect, and it drives James insane. Even the simple way he walks, his movements smooth and unhurried, every step deliberate, makes James want to scream.

And the worst part? James doesn’t even know who’s winning this stupid game between them anymore.

The night air is cool and heavy with the lingering noise of the dispersing crowd, but it does nothing to soothe the simmering frustration in James’ chest. He shoves his hands into his pockets, fingers curling into fists, trying to keep his face neutral as he stands next to Regulus on the sidewalk, waiting for the taxi to arrive.

The weight of the evening sits on his shoulders—the missed shot, the endless teasing, the cherry Coke fiasco—and it all churns in his mind, sour and restless. Regulus, meanwhile, looks as content as can be, like this entire night was nothing more than an amusing little game to him.

James keeps sneaking glances at him, and every glance makes it worse. The way Regulus holds the now-empty Coke cup between his fingers with lazy indifference. The way his dark curls frame his face perfectly, falling just so over his brow. The way he walks and moves, like the world exists purely for his entertainment.

It’s maddening, because somehow, even after everything, James still finds him beautiful. He doesn’t want to; he shouldn’t. But the thought creeps in anyway, clinging to the edges of his annoyance like a burr.

The phone in James’ pocket vibrates with the notification: Your ride has arrived.

James exhales slowly through his nose, feeling the tight coil of irritation shift slightly in his chest. He just needs to get through the next thirty seconds without losing it completely.

“Taxi’s here,” he mutters, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Regulus hums in response, taking one last look at the night around them before turning to James. And God, of course, he’s smiling—that soft, playful smile that’s just innocent enough to be maddening.

They make their way over to the waiting cab, James trailing half a step behind, feeling as though every step is dragging him deeper into some elaborate trap he can’t escape.

When they reach the car, Regulus pauses by the door, turning back to face James. For a moment, they just stand there, the noise of the street fading into the background. The streetlights cast a soft glow across Regulus’ face, making him look even more frustratingly beautiful.

“Thanks for tonight,” Regulus says softly, his voice light and easy, like he hadn’t spent the entire evening driving James to the brink of madness. His dark eyes gleam with a hint of amusement, and James knows—knows—he’s being played with, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in.

Just one kiss. That’s all James wants, a small reward for enduring the Coke drama, the missed shot, and Regulus’ relentless teasing. Just one moment to make this entire night feel worth it.

He tilts his head, closing the distance between them, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. Regulus’ lips look soft, inviting, and James’ mouth practically tingles at the thought of finally closing that gap.

But just as their lips are about to meet—

Regulus’ hand slides between them, pressing gently but firmly against James’ mouth.

James’ eyes fly open in surprise, his heart stumbling in his chest. The cool press of Regulus’ palm against his lips feels like both a dismissal and a tease.

When James pulls back slightly, Regulus’ expression is infuriatingly playful—his lips curved in a smile that dances on the edge of smug. There’s no malice in it, only a wicked kind of delight, as if to say: You thought, didn’t you?

James lets out a slow, frustrated sigh through his nose, closing his eyes briefly. Of course. Of course, he’s not even getting a kiss out of tonight. Because why would anything about this evening go his way?

Regulus tilts his head, his grin widening as he gives James a gentle push on the chest; not hard enough to hurt, just enough to say, “Nice try.”

“We’ll see each other again,” Regulus says, his voice a low murmur that sends an unwanted shiver down James’ spine. It’s not just a promise, it’s a dare, dangling just out of reach.

James stands there, half-expecting that to be the end of it. But then, just as Regulus opens the door to the taxi, he pauses, a mischievous glint flashing across his face.

“Oh, right,” he says, his voice light, as though he’s just remembered something important.

Before James can react, Regulus thrusts the empty cherry Coke cup into his hands, the plastic cold and sticky against James’ palm.

James stares at the cup, dumbfounded.

Regulus gives him one last crooked smile, the kind that’s too charming for its own good, and slides gracefully into the taxi, as if he’s just won the grand prize. The door clicks shut with a soft finality, and James is left standing on the sidewalk, holding the stupid empty cup like an idiot.

The taxi pulls away, melting into the night traffic, and James watches it go with a mixture of disbelief, frustration, and something annoyingly close to admiration.

He glances down at the empty cup in his hand, his fingers clenching around it as if it holds all the answers to his evening’s failures. The logo on the cup taunts him, a bright reminder of everything that went wrong tonight.

For a moment, James just stands there, dumbstruck. Then, slowly, a tired smile tugs at the corners of his mouth—a reluctant, almost helpless kind of smile.

At least the bastard finished the drink.

Chapter Text

The office is quiet, bathed in the fading glow of the setting sun outside the windows. James slumps in his chair, running a hand through his messy hair as the events of the weekend replay in his mind, each moment sharpening the frustration that has been sitting heavy in his chest since last night.

Across the room, Gideon perches on the edge of James’ desk, looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and pity. His arms are crossed, his expression incredulous.

“Wait, wait, hold on. You’re telling me he really made you run off in the middle of the game for cherry Coke? And you missed Mulciber’s shot?”

James groans, rubbing his temples. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

Gideon whistles low, shaking his head as if he’s just heard the most tragic thing in the world, “That’s brutal, mate. I mean, that’s next-level.”

In the corner, Fabian leans lazily over the billiard table, lining up a shot, the click of the cue ball breaking the brief silence in the room. A slow grin spreads across his face as he looks up from his shot.

“I like this Regulus already,” Fabian says, his voice laced with amusement. He sinks the ball easily into the pocket and leans on his cue stick, “Sounds like a real piece of work. You’ve got your hands full.”

James gives him a miserable glare, but there’s no real bite in it. He sighs deeply and leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. The exhaustion sits heavy on him, not just from lack of sleep, but from the sheer mental gymnastics that Regulus keeps forcing him to perform.

“At first, he seemed... different,” James mutters, rubbing a hand down his face, “When I met him at that rooftop party—at the Rosewood—he was...”

He trails off, trying to pin down the right words. That version of Regulus, the one from the rooftop, feels like a distant memory now. James remembers the sharp gaze, the cool confidence, and the calm, almost enigmatic way Regulus had carried himself that night. For a moment, he had thought—hoped, even—that he’d met someone serious. Someone... easy to talk to.

“He seemed more put-together,” James continues, struggling to express the weird shift he’s been noticing, “Like... I don’t know, more collected. More refined. He’s still smart—God, he’s clever—and interesting, and...” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “And beautiful. But now...”

James gestures vaguely, as if the right words are just out of reach.

“But now?” Gideon prompts, raising an eyebrow.

“Now he’s acting...” James shrugs helplessly, “Weird. Different. He’s—he’s throwing all this nonsense at me, making ridiculous comments, playing these weird games. He’s driving me up the fucking wall.”

Fabian chuckles from his spot at the billiard table, resting his chin on the end of his cue stick, “He’s testing you, Potter. Pushing your buttons to see how far you’ll go.”

“Well, he’s doing a damn good job of it,” James slumps further into his chair, pressing his palms into his tired eyes.

Gideon grins knowingly, “Yeah, sounds like you’ve got yourself a real handful. Bet you didn’t sign up for this kind of brainfuck, did you?”

James huffs a tired laugh, though there’s no real humor in it, “Definitely not.”

Gideon pats his shoulder, half-sympathetic, half-mocking, “Good luck, mate. Dealing with someone who messes with your head after a full day of work? That’s next-level hell.”

James lets out a long, frustrated sigh and plops back into his chair, his arms dangling over the sides. He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of the entire situation pressing down on him. This was supposed to be straightforward. Get close to Regulus, charm him, secure the Horcrux Diamond contract. Done. But no—nothing about this has been easy. Regulus, apparently, was born to be a headache in human form.

Gideon nudges him with his elbow, grinning slyly, “So... have you talked to him today? Or is he still ghosting you?”

James sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck, “I left him, like, six messages this morning,” he mutters, the memory making his stomach churn with irritation, “He wasn’t picking up. Kept going to voicemail.”

Fabian laughs quietly from the corner, lining up another shot, “Persistent. I’ll give you that.”

James shoots him a half-hearted glare, “Yeah, well, finally—and I mean way after lunch—he picks up.”

“And?” Gideon asks, crossing his arms and leaning in, curious as hell.

“And I invited him over tonight,” James drags a hand down his face again, “I have no idea how this is gonna go, but it has to go well. It has to.”

Fabian straightens up, propping the cue stick against the wall. His expression softens slightly, though his teasing grin stays intact, “Good. Keep at it. You’re doing the right thing. We need this contract, James.”

The mention of the contract sends a jolt of pressure back into James’ chest, anchoring all his scattered frustrations into something clear and undeniable. Horcrux Diamond is on the line. The stakes are too high to let a few headaches—or a few missed shots—throw him off track.

He glances between Fabian and Gideon, the two of them watching him with a mix of amusement and expectation.

James sighs heavily, rubbing both hands over his face, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Gideon claps him on the shoulder, grinning, “Nah. Just think of the payday, mate. One night of dinner-and-brainfuck, and you’re golden.”

James groans again, letting his head drop back against the chair with a dull thud.

He’ll endure it. He’ll smile through the teasing, run after Regulus as many times as it takes, grit his teeth through the games and the nonsense. Because he’s not walking away without that contract. Not after all the effort, the time, the promises.

“I’ll survive,” James mutters, more to himself than anyone else. He lowers his hands and stares blankly at the ceiling, the flickering hum of the office lights settling into his bones, “I have to.”

Because, whether Regulus Black likes it or not, James Potter always plays to win.

༻༺

The ceiling in Mary’s apartment is cracked in places, and Regulus watches the faint patterns lazily as he lies sprawled across her bed, one leg hanging over the side, the other bent at an angle. He’s blissfully relaxed, basking in the glow of self-satisfaction after recounting last night’s escapade with James.

Nearby, Mary dips her soft-bristled brush into a small dish of mint-green clay mask, spreading it across Lily’s face with the precision of an artist. Lily, however, is struggling to sit still, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter that bursts out of her in snorts and giggles.

“Oh my God,” Lily wheezes, trying and failing to stop laughing as Regulus recounts the cherry Coke disaster for the second time, “You told him it wasn’t the right flavour? And made him go back during the game?” she slaps her hand against her thigh, wheezing from laughter, “I’d—I'd pay money to see his face.”

Mary snorts, not bothering to hide her own laughter, though she pauses to glare at Lily, “Lily, sit still,” she warns, trying to suppress her grin, “If you move around, the mask will smear, and I swear I’ll blame you.”

Regulus smiles to himself, savoring their laughter like it’s another little victory in his campaign of chaos. He drapes an arm over his eyes, grinning into the crook of his elbow.

Lily leans forward slightly, ignoring Mary’s warning, her face stretched into a huge, amused smile under the drying clay mask, “You’re playing the world’s most insufferable human being. I’m so proud of you.”

Regulus sighs, though the corner of his mouth twitches with amusement, “Honestly, I can’t stand myself,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face dramatically, “If someone pulled that shit with me? I’d have bolted out of there halfway through the night.”

Lily laughs again, snorting through her nose, and Mary, now biting her lip to stifle her giggles, flicks her brush at her.

“Stop moving, Evans!” Mary warns, though her tone is playful, “If the mask cracks, you’re redoing it yourself.”

Lily waves a hand at her dismissively, the brush leaving streaks on her nose as she tries to stifle her laughter, “He’s building the perfect storm for that poor guy. James probably thinks he’s going mad.”

Regulus rolls over onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. There’s a gleam of smug satisfaction in his eyes, though deep down, even he can’t deny that the whole thing feels ridiculous, “Yeah, well... I almost threw up in my mouth after the whole ‘baby, I want cherry Coke’ line,” he groans, pressing his face into the pillow as if he can hide from the memory, “I was two seconds away from cringing into another dimension.”

Mary chuckles softly, her eyes warm with affection, “You’re a menace,” she says, dipping the brush back into the bowl of mask, “A brilliant, beautiful little menace.”

Regulus laughs quietly, feeling the tension from the past few days melt away in the comfort of his friends. Mary’s apartment smells like jasmine candles and clay masks, the kind of space that feels safe and familiar, and he’s reminded, for a moment, why it’s worth keeping his guard up everywhere else. Here, with Mary and Lily, he can let the act slip a little.

But only a little. There’s still a game to play, after all.

Regulus sighs, running a hand through his dark curls, “James invited me over tonight,” he says, his voice casual but carrying a hint of uncertainty. The weight of it sits strangely in his chest, like a question he doesn’t know how to answer, “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do, but—”

Before he can finish, Lily’s sharp voice cuts him off.

“You need to fuck.”

Mary gasps so dramatically it sounds like she’s been slapped across the face. She clutches her chest, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

“Lily! They’ve known each other for four days! No one needs to fuck!”

Regulus smirks, biting back a laugh as he watches the two of them bicker. Lily rolls her eyes like Mary has just said something utterly foolish.

“That’s not what I mean,” Lily says, swatting Mary’s arm lightly. “God, calm down.”

She waits, tapping her foot impatiently as Mary carefully paints the last bit of the clay mask across the bridge of her nose.

Mary narrows her eyes in concentration. Her brush glides with the precision of a Renaissance artist, tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she smooths out the edges.

“There,” Mary says with satisfaction, pulling the brush away, “Perfect.”

And that’s all the invitation Lily needs. The second Mary sets the bowl down, Lily springs to life, darting across the room like a mischievous cat. With a grin plastered across her face, she throws herself onto the bed beside Regulus, the mattress bouncing beneath her weight.

Regulus props himself up on one elbow, his brow arching as Lily grins at him like she’s just had the most brilliant idea in the world.

“Okay,” he says slowly, his voice laced with suspicion, “What are you plotting?”

Lily scoots closer, her green eyes gleaming with a wicked glint, and rests her hands lightly on Regulus’ chest. She traces her fingers along his shirt, her touch playful, almost teasing—like a cat playing with a mouse before the final pounce.

“You,” she purrs dramatically, “need to play with him.”

Regulus frowns, his brows knitting in confusion. He glances at Mary, who is seated cross-legged, looking equally puzzled.

“Play with him?” Regulus echoes, narrowing his eyes, “What does that even mean?”

Lily gives a frustrated huff, like he’s the slowest student in the class.

“I mean,” she says, flicking him lightly on the forehead, “you need to make a toy out of him. Wind him up. Make him want you.”

Regulus’ frown deepens. “I already am messing with him. He’s halfway out of his mind because of me.”

“No, no, no,” Lily shakes her head, her messy bangs bouncing with every movement. Her grin sharpens, taking on the edge of a predator. “I mean... you gotta really wind him up.” She taps a finger to her lips, clearly enjoying the anticipation of what she’s about to say next. “Get him to that point, you know? Get him so worked up that his brain short-circuits.”

“And then what?” Regulus asks, though a sneaking suspicion creeps into his mind.

Lily’s smile turns downright wicked. “And then—poof—you pull the rug out. Nothing. Not a kiss, not a touch, not a single thing. You can even ruin the moment somewhat dramatically.” She leans closer, her grin widening. “Then just watch him scramble.”

Mary gasps again, slapping both hands over her face to smother her laughter. Her dark eyes sparkle with amusement as she peeks at Regulus between her fingers.

“Lily,” she wheezes, “that is so... evil.”

Regulus blinks, processing the idea. The sheer brilliance—and cruelty—of the plan sinks in slowly, like a delicious realization.

It’s perfect. It’s terrible. It’s... genius.

For a moment, he stares at Lily in stunned admiration. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he grabs her shoulders and gives her a playful shake, his grin spreading wide across his face.

“You’re a genius,” Regulus says breathlessly, his heart thrumming with excitement.

Lily beams, basking in his praise like a cat who just knocked a priceless vase off the table. “I know.”

Feeling a rush of affection for her sheer audacity, Regulus leans in to kiss her cheek in thanks.

“Mask!” Lily shrieks, pulling back as if he’s about to commit a crime. Her expression is a mix of horror and laughter as she shields her clay-covered face with both hands.

Regulus laughs, the sound genuine and light, and without missing a beat, he leans in and presses a quick peck to her lips instead. It’s careful and playful, just enough to get away with.

Lily grins, her clay-coated face cracking slightly at the edges.

“There,” she says with mock seriousness, “Perfect execution.”

From her spot on the floor, Mary doubles over in a fit of giggles, hugging her knees to her chest, “You guys are impossible,” she says between bursts of laughter, “Reg, you’re really gonna do it?”

Regulus leans back into the pillows, his grin slow and satisfied. He feels lighter—free of the frustration and second-guessing that’s been nagging at him all day.

“Oh, absolutely,” he murmurs, his voice brimming with wicked intent, “I’m definitely doing it.”

Lily giggles, clapping her hands like a delighted conspirator. Mary wipes a tear from her eye, still laughing, and Regulus feels a spark of excitement settle deep in his chest. He’s going to drive James Potter absolutely insane.

Lily, sprawled beside him with her face still caked in green clay, suddenly shifts, propping herself up on her elbow and fixing him with a sly, inquisitive look.

“So,” Lily says, her grin widening mischievously, “Would you fuck James? You know—hypothetically speaking.”

Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he stares at her for a moment, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question.

Lily leans in closer, her face now inches from his, her green eyes sparkling with pure mischief, “Come on,” she whispers, her voice low and conspiratorial, “Spill the guts.”

For a second, Regulus actually considers denying it, just to mess with her. But then, a slow grin spreads across his face, lazy and amused. He gives a small shrug, as if the answer was obvious all along.

“Yeah,” he admits, grinning wickedly.

Lily breaks into a triumphant smile, and from across the room, Mary—who had turned away to apply her own mask—hums teasingly, not missing a beat.

“Slut.”

Regulus and Lily burst out laughing, the sound filling the small bedroom. Lily nudges him playfully with her shoulder, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Knew it.”

Regulus gives an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes, but his smile lingers.

“What can I say? The man’s built like a goddamn greek god.” He shifts on the bed, propping himself up against the pillows. “And he’s... really strong. I mean, that kind of thing is—” He pauses, chewing on the words for a moment. “It’s... kinda hot.”

Lily lets out an exaggerated gasp, clutching her chest dramatically like Mary did earlier.

Mary, still painting her own mask on with precision, snickers. “Alright, alright. But let’s get real for a second—how big do you think he is?”

Lily chokes on her laughter, collapsing back onto the bed and clutching her stomach.

“Mary! You’re a bigger slut than Regulus!”

Mary, now thoroughly amused, grins wickedly. “I mean, come on. We were all thinking it.”

Regulus rolls his eyes again, but this time, his cheeks warm ever so slightly. A flush creeps up his neck, and he tries to play it cool by fiddling with the edge of a pillow. But the memory of that night in James’ apartment creeps up on him—the way James kissed him, all heat and intensity, and the solid weight of him between Regulus’ thighs.

“Well...” Regulus trails off, biting his lip for a second before glancing between his two best friends. “When we kissed on his couch on the first night, and he... y’know, shifted between my legs...”

Lily props herself back up, her eyes wide with interest, practically vibrating with excitement.

Regulus exhales slowly. “I kinda... felt it.” He taps his fingers lightly against the pillow, letting the words settle. “And what I felt was... well. Let’s just say it was very promising.”

Mary’s brush clatters to the floor as she doubles over in laughter, gasping for air.

Lily, somehow both horrified and delighted, shrieks, slapping her hands against Regulus’ shoulder. “Oh my God, you harlot! You felt it? And it was huge?”

Regulus bites back a smug grin, resting his head dramatically against the pillows. “It was... not insignificant.”

Mary slaps a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles, while Lily curls up next to him, practically vibrating with excitement.

“You’re so dead,” Lily whispers, giggling uncontrollably. “You’ve got it so bad for him. Admit it!”

Regulus scoffs, though a playful smile still tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I do not have it bad for him,” he insists, though his voice lacks conviction.

Mary and Lily exchange knowing looks, and Regulus rolls his eyes again, more for show than anything else. But deep down, he can’t help but think about it—the way James felt, the solid heat of him, the way his kisses were just shy of overwhelming.

And, annoyingly enough, the thought doesn’t bother him as much as it should.

༻༺

James paces his living room, glancing around to make sure everything is in place. The low light casts a warm glow over the space, a soft blend of candlelight and strategically placed lamps. Fabian and Gideon’s voices still echo in his mind, their playful but oddly insightful advice guiding his every move as he sets up for the night.

“First rule,” Fabian said, “ambiance. Lighting is everything. You don’t want it to be too bright—no one wants to feel like they’re in a doctor’s office on a date. Think warm, soft, maybe some candles. But not too many, or he’ll think you’re trying too hard.”

So, James had dug around and found a few candles with subtle scents; nothing overwhelming, just hints of sandalwood and vanilla. He’d arranged them on the coffee table and by the windowsill, casting a golden glow across the room that felt intimate without being over-the-top. He adjusts one of the candles slightly, feeling satisfied with the balance.

“Then, get some music going. Not too loud, and absolutely no pop music,” Gideon added, “Something low-key, the kind of stuff that fills the silence without taking over the whole room. You want him to feel comfortable, relaxed.”

James had sorted through his playlists and settled on a mix of soft indie tracks and jazz, letting it play softly in the background, just audible enough to fill the space without demanding attention. He double-checks the volume, ensuring it’s right at that sweet spot.

“And don’t just sit there expecting him to start talking,” Fabian insisted, “You have to make him feel like he’s the center of attention. Ask about his day, his interests. Show him that you’re curious, but don’t go full interrogator on him. Keep it casual.”

James nods to himself, going over a few conversation starters in his head—questions about what books Regulus has been reading, maybe something light about the latest tasks at his work. He wants to make sure Regulus feels at ease, that he can settle into the evening without feeling like he’s being cornered.

Finally, the last piece of advice from Gideon comes to mind, and it brings a smirk to James’ face.

“And if all else fails, you know… get a drink ready for him. Loosen things up a bit. But be smart about it—something he actually likes. It’s not about impressing him with some fancy cocktail he doesn’t care about. Just get it right.”

So, in the kitchen, he keeps a bottle of white wine for Regulus, ready to pour it whenever he asks and top it with ice. 

With everything in place, James takes a step back, surveying the room. Soft lighting, mellow music, the smell of sandalwood faintly filling the air. The table is stocked with a few simple snacks, and he’s tossed a comfortable throw over the couch, just in case Regulus gets cold. It’s cozy, relaxed, and exactly the kind of setting he hopes will bring Regulus out of his shell a little.

The doorbell rings, sharp and sudden, breaking the quiet anticipation in the room. James feels his pulse quicken, his heart giving a quick, nervous thump. This is it, he thinks, smoothing his shirt instinctively as he takes a steadying breath. He moves toward the door with a calm exterior, trying to mask the excitement buzzing beneath the surface.

As he reaches for the handle, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the entryway—a quick check to make sure he looks relaxed, charming, the way he’s planned. He exhales, then opens the door.

There, leaning slightly against the frame with an easy, poised expression, stands Regulus. He’s dressed sharply, the collar of his shirt open just enough to hint at his collarbones. The faintest smile touches his lips, his gaze sweeping over James in that assessing way of his, as if he’s both impressed and unbothered.

“Hi,” Regulus says, his voice low, casual, with a glint of something James can’t quite read.

James grins, stepping aside to let him in, motioning with a small wave of his hand, “Hi. Come in.”

Regulus steps across the threshold, and as he does, James catches a hint of something—maybe cologne, maybe just the cold night air clinging to him—and he realizes, almost reluctantly, just how long he’s been waiting for this. He watches from the corner of his eye as Regulus takes in the space, his gaze sweeping across the room with a slow, appraising look. The soft lighting, the music, the neatly arranged candles, all the little touches he spent the evening perfecting, seem to be working, because when Regulus looks back at him, there’s a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

They move into the living room, and James gestures to the couch, where he’s set out a throw blanket and a small tray of snacks. He’s already anticipating Regulus’ next reaction and hoping he’s thought of everything to make him comfortable, “Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, “Wine?”

Regulus considers it for a moment, then nods, his smile widening just a fraction, “Would be nice.”

James heads into the kitchen, barely able to contain his excitement. He remembers Gideon’s advice, replaying the words in his mind, and reaches for the bottle of white he’d chosen carefully, remembering how Regulus had mentioned he preferred it. He pours two glasses, feeling an odd sense of pride as he realizes just how many little details he’s nailed tonight. All in the name of romance, he thinks with a private smirk, taking the wine back to the living room.

As he hands Regulus the glass, James tries to keep his voice steady, nonchalant, “So,” he begins, settling onto the couch beside him, “is there anything you would like to do?” his eyes catch on the faint gleam of Regulus’ shirt in the low light, and for a second, he can’t help but notice how well Regulus’ dark hair frames his face, how the collar of his shirt lies just right against his collarbone. 

God, he’s done all this for the contract, but right now, James almost forgets that’s the reason.

Regulus shrugs, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a small sip, his expression calm, unreadable, “I don’t know,” he replies, his tone casual, almost challenging, as if daring James to come up with something.

And for just a moment, James feels a pang of regret. Here Regulus is, looking effortlessly gorgeous, with that glint in his eye and a faint smile tugging at his lips, and it strikes James how easy it would be to let himself get carried away. It’s strange—he’s put so much effort into this, planned everything to the last detail, and yet now, sitting beside Regulus, he almost wishes this was all real.

James clears his throat; tonight is all about making an impression, about pulling Regulus in just enough to keep him curious, maybe even invested. If he can pull this off, he’ll have Regulus hooked, and the contract with Horcrux Diamond will practically be in his pocket.

“Movie?” he offers then, his voice casual, though he’s watching carefully for Regulus’ reaction.

Regulus raises an eyebrow, considering, then takes a slow sip of his wine before shrugging, “I wouldn’t mind a melodrama,” he replies, his tone cool and vaguely amused.

James grins, reaching for the remote, “Melodrama it is,” he says smoothly before starting to click through options, “But don’t blame me if it’s a total disaster,” he adds, though he’s already lining up every move he’ll make tonight, planning how he’ll steer the conversation, how he’ll make Regulus feel like he’s the center of attention.

Regulus smirks, settling further into the couch with one arm stretched along the backrest, his posture deceptively relaxed, “Disasters can be… entertaining,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering over to James with an amused glint.

James keeps his own expression light, but inside, he’s already strategizing, noting the small details—how close Regulus sits, the subtle way he shifts his focus to James when he thinks he isn’t looking. This is his chance to work some magic, to use every bit of charm he’s got until Regulus is as tangled in this as he needs him to be.

He lets the movie play, glancing over every so often, a small smile tugging at his lips. By the end of tonight, Regulus won’t be able to get him out of his head.

༻༺

Regulus shifts on the couch beside James, his gaze on the television screen where the last few minutes of a melodrama are playing out. A soft glow from the screen casts shadows across James’ face, and Regulus’ mind drifts, only half paying attention to the sappy dialogue as he watches James from the corner of his eye.

The dim light softens James’ features, and Regulus finds himself studying the lines of his face—the curve of his cheek, the messy hair he tries to push back, the way his lips quirk slightly upward as he watches the final scene unfold.

He’s here because James invited him, and though Regulus had barely considered declining, he’d wondered at the time what James had in mind. The reason they’re here, though, is simple: Regulus has a plan. A plan that involves getting close to James, close enough to gather material for that article he’s been working on, or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Yet as he sits here, feeling the warmth of James’ shoulder against his own, the plan feels flimsy, half-formed. A part of him knows this excuse—this idea that he’s just gathering material for some grand project—is more a shield than anything else. But he pushes that thought away, focusing instead on how to subtly, carefully, close the remaining distance between them.

He lets out a sigh, soft enough that it could be mistaken for simple fatigue. The melodrama is winding down now, the music swelling as the lead characters exchange a predictable, dramatic kiss. James rolls his eyes at the screen, muttering something under his breath about clichés, and Regulus suppresses a smirk, fighting the urge to tease him.

Instead, he shifts his weight slightly, letting his arm settle along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just lightly against James’ shoulder. It's a small movement, one that feels casual, almost natural, but he can sense his own heartbeat quickening as he does it. His mind flashes with thoughts, possibilities, as he wonders just how close he can get without tipping his hand too much.

Regulus shifts a little closer, keeping his movements subtle, as though he’s just settling deeper into the cushions. He stretches out his legs, letting his knee just barely graze against James’, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary. It’s delicate work; every touch calculated to be just light enough to draw attention without pushing too far.

The next time he moves, it’s his hand that finds a place on the edge of the couch between them, close enough that his fingers could brush against James’ arm if he shifted even slightly. But he doesn’t; instead, he lets his fingertips rest there, the space between them charged, just enough to feel the slight warmth radiating from James’ skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches James glancing at him, brow furrowing ever so slightly.

Feigning casual indifference, Regulus allows a tiny smirk to tug at the corner of his lips, his gaze fixed on the screen even though he’s barely paying attention to it. In his mind, he’s completely focused on the game of inches, the carefully controlled tension he’s creating, bit by bit. He shifts again, his shoulder pressing against James’ for just a moment before he eases away, as if testing the waters, checking for any reaction.

James says nothing, but Regulus can sense a slight shift in his posture, as though he’s more aware of the small touches, the closeness, the weight of the silence between them. Regulus lets his hand brush lightly against James’ arm as he shifts again, his fingers lingering on the fabric of James’ shirt for a beat before he retracts his hand, keeping it teasingly close. There’s a thrill in this game, in the way he can feel James’ attention sharpen, each subtle touch building the tension, a slow-burning charge that leaves both of them acutely aware of every movement.

Regulus steals another glance before he lets his gaze slide back to the screen. He wants to keep James guessing, wants to see if he can draw him in without ever needing to make the first real move.

Regulus lets his fingers ghost over James’ forearm, his touches featherlight, each one a tease that lingers just long enough to pull James’ attention back to him before slipping away. He can feel the tension building, feel the way James’ breaths are becoming shallower, his gaze darting to Regulus more often, lingering just a bit longer each time.

And then, just as Regulus trails his fingertips along James’ wrist with the lightest touch, James finally snaps.

Without a word, James turns, his hand finding the back of Regulus’ neck, and leans in, closing the distance between them. The kiss is instant, consuming, filled with the pent-up energy that’s been building between them. Regulus’ back presses into the couch as James deepens the kiss, one hand tangling in Regulus’ hair, the other braced against the cushions. The intensity leaves Regulus breathless for a moment, and he can’t help the small, self-satisfied smile that forms against James’ lips, knowing his plan has worked perfectly.

But he’s not about to let James have it all so easily.

After a few heated seconds, he pulls back slightly, just enough to break the kiss, though their faces are still close, breaths mingling. Regulus lets his lips curl into a smirk, his gaze flicking over James’ face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the intense look in his eyes.

“Getting a bit carried away, aren’t we?”

James blinks, caught slightly off guard, but the look of desire in his eyes doesn’t falter.

“You’re one to talk,” he shoots back, his tone slightly breathless.

Regulus laughs softly, then leans back into the couch, putting just a little more space between them, crossing his arms with a casual air that belies the racing of his own heart. He glances at James, giving him a playful look.

“Maybe,” he drawls, “but I thought you had a little more restraint, Potter.”

He watches with satisfaction as James narrows his eyes, clearly irked, and shifts closer as if to reclaim the space Regulus just took. But Regulus places a hand on his chest, a gentle but firm pressure that stops him mid-motion.

“Easy there. I don’t remember inviting you to do that.”

James pulls back slightly, visibly reining himself in, the hint of a flush still coloring his cheeks as he takes a steadying breath. He runs a hand through his already messy hair, composing himself, his gaze softening as he meets Regulus’ eyes.

“Alright,” he says, his voice calm but with an undertone of heat he can’t quite hide. “I’ll behave. Don’t want you thinking I’m some… brute.” He raises his chin, looking at Regulus with a composed, almost gentlemanly smile, as if promising restraint.

Regulus resists the urge to roll his eyes, finding it equal parts amusing and maddening that James is taking the high road now of all times. He shifts on the couch, letting his knee press just slightly into James’ thigh and leaning in, his lips hovering near James’ ear. His voice drops, soft and smooth.

“Behaving? Is there really fun in that, baby?”

He sees James’ jaw tense, a flicker of the composure slipping for just a second. Regulus lets his hand trail slowly along James’ arm, his touch light but lingering, fingers skimming up to his shoulder before pulling back just as James leans in slightly. Regulus holds back a smile, enjoying the thrill of this game as he watches James try to maintain his composure, even as his fingers tighten on the edge of the couch.

After a few moments of this teasing dance, James can’t take it anymore. The restraint he’s tried so hard to hold onto snaps as he turns toward Regulus, his hands moving with a new intensity. One hand slides around Regulus’ waist, pulling him in close, while the other moves to the back of his neck, holding him as he presses their lips together once more, the kiss deeper, almost desperate.

Regulus’ heart races, but he can’t help another satisfied smirk that curls at the corner of his mouth as he lets himself lean into it, feeling the raw, unfiltered energy that James can’t hold back any longer.

Their kiss deepens, drawing out into something slow and consuming, each movement growing bolder as they close every inch of space between them. James’ hands move with a barely restrained urgency, one cradling Regulus’ face, the other sliding down to his hip, fingers pressing firmly, as if he can’t bear to let go.

Time seems to slip away, and Regulus finds himself caught in the fervor of it, feeling the intensity of James’ heartbeat against him, the warmth of his touch, the weight of his gaze when they finally break apart, breaths mingling as they both try to catch up.

With a smirk lingering on his lips, Regulus slowly pushes against James’ chest, guiding him back against the couch. He slips off the cushions, sinking gracefully onto his knees, his hands finding their place on James’ thighs, his fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of his trousers.

The sudden change catches James off guard, his breath hitching as he looks down at Regulus, eyes dark and intent.

Regulus holds his gaze, watching the mix of surprise and anticipation flickering in James’ expression. He lets his hands slide upward, his fingers skimming over James’ knees and slowly inching higher. Regulus pauses, letting the anticipation build before he slips his hands under James’ shirt, his fingers brushing lightly against the warm skin of his abdomen.

James’ breath grows heavier, his chest rising and falling as he watches Regulus’ every movement. Regulus lets his fingers glide along James’ stomach, tracing gentle patterns. He can feel the tension in James’ body, the way his muscles contract under his touch, and a spark of satisfaction ignites within him.

Regulus smirks, his fingers tracing slow circles across James’ stomach, feeling the slight shiver under his touch. He has James right where he wants him.

Just as James leans forward, eyes intent, he murmurs, “Are you sure, baby? Don’t want you thinking I’m rushing you into anything.”

“What, Minnie Mouse doesn’t want to come out and play?”

James’ expression shifts, and there’s a furrow in his brow now.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Regulus cringes the second the words leave his mouth, feeling the awkwardness of his own line hitting him like a brick. But he’s already committed, and something about James’ bewildered expression makes him double down. Holding back his own laughter at the sheer absurdity of it, he raises his eyebrows, repeating the words with exaggerated confidence.

“You know, Minnie Mouse… are we inviting her out?”

“Wait—what?”

Regulus bites down on the inside of his cheek, feeling his own resolve slipping as he senses the moment spiraling. The tension he’d built so carefully between them is rapidly dissipating, and he can feel James’ excitement fading, his face a mix of bafflement and something close to amused betrayal.

Regulus’ shoulders start to shake, and he’s fighting back laughter now, the awkwardness doubling back on itself until he’s finding it ridiculously, painfully funny.

James narrows his eyes, still staring at Regulus in shock. “Minnie Mouse? What on earth are you even talking about?”

Regulus holds James’ gaze, then subtly nods down toward James’ lap, making his meaning all too clear.

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and loaded, and he watches as James’ eyes widen, his face going blank with pure, unfiltered horror. James swallows hard, and Regulus can practically feel the last traces of excitement drain out of him. Inside, he feels a flicker of triumph—it’s working exactly as Lily had suggested. Keep it up, she’d said, and he’s sure as hell committed now.

Keeping his expression carefully innocent, Regulus presses his lips into a slight pout, his fingers continuing their lazy path across James’ stomach.

“What?” he says, the picture of feigned confusion as he bats his lashes, maintaining eye contact with just the right amount of faux concern.

James stares at him, the horror morphing into something close to betrayal. He opens his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words, his face an odd shade between embarrassed and appalled.

“Did you… Did you seriously just…” He trails off, his hand half-raised as if to gesture to the whole scene, utterly speechless.

Regulus holds back a grin, continuing to play dumb, his fingers stilling slightly but not moving away.

James takes a slow, steady breath, clearly gathering his thoughts, and then, with a carefully measured tone, he says, “Look, Reg… I don’t think this is… working out the way you might’ve thought.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, feigning cluelessness. “Why? Is it because of Minnie Mouse?”

James blinks, his eyes wide like two dinner plates as he stares down at Regulus, who is still kneeling between his legs with that same innocent expression plastered across his face. Then, as if something in him snaps, James stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair in complete exasperation.

“Alright, enough! What is this Minnie Mouse nonsense?” he exclaims, staring at Regulus like he’s a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “Of all the names you could’ve picked, why in the world would you go with Minnie Mouse? Why not—” He pauses, gesturing wildly, “—something… grander? Something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m a cartoon character?”

Regulus’ composure slips for a moment as he stifles a laugh, watching James’ animated frustration with barely concealed amusement. He tilts his head, eyes wide with mock innocence as he looks up at James, feigning genuine confusion.

“Grander?” he asks, voice soft, as if he has no idea why James is this worked up. “I don’t get it—what’s the big deal?”

James lets out an exasperated groan, throwing his hands up as he stares at Regulus, completely scandalized. “Regulus, no one—no one in their right mind calls a dick something like Minnie Mouse,” he shakes his head, clearly at a loss for words, his voice rising. “It’s ridiculous! It’s… I mean, it’s a Disney character!”

Biting back his laughter, Regulus keeps up the charade, folding his arms across his chest and giving James a look that’s part wounded, part defiant. He huffs, tilting his chin up as he narrows his eyes.

“Well, what’s so wrong with my approach, then?” he says, letting his voice take on a sulky edge. “I think Minnie Mouse is… charming, actually. It’s cute, it’s memorable.”

James stares at him, mouth half-open in shock, as though he’s not sure if he should be laughing or horrified. “Charming? Cute? Regulus, this isn’t supposed to be… cute!”

Regulus keeps his arms crossed, his lips pressed into a pout, and he gives James an exaggerated sigh, as if he’s the one who’s disappointed.

“Well, I’m sorry you don’t appreciate my taste. Maybe I just have a more… creative approach than you do.”

James throws his hands up, exasperation clear in every line of his body. “It’s awful. Just—no. I don’t like it at all.” He looks genuinely offended, like the idea of Minnie Mouse is somehow a personal affront, and Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cracking up.

With a dramatic sigh, Regulus settles back onto the couch, crossing one leg over the other as he looks up at James with an expression of innocent curiosity.

“Alright, fine. So what would you prefer?” he asks. “What’s more fitting, then?”

James jumps up, paces for a second, gathering his thoughts as if he’s seriously contemplating this, his brow furrowed. Finally, he stops, facing Regulus, hands on his hips, clearly committed to his answer.

“Something grand,” he says, his voice full of conviction. “Like… Sword. Or King. Or something noble, something… dignified.”

Regulus feels his composure slipping, a snort of laughter dangerously close to escaping, but he holds it back, just barely. He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, looking at James with an intensity that he hopes passes for genuine interest instead of barely suppressed laughter.

“Sword?” he repeats, lips twitching as he fights to keep a straight face. “You really think… Sword would be a good fit?”

James nods, almost serious, clearly invested in his reasoning. “Yes, because it’s powerful. Strong. Something worthy of respect.”

Regulus feels like he might actually burst, but he gives James a solemn nod, his face the picture of sincerity.

“Well, I can see you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

James continues, clearly invested now, his face set with an almost ridiculous level of seriousness. “See, something like Sword carries weight. It’s respectable. Not like… Minnie Mouse,” he adds, the words practically dripping with disdain. He glances at Regulus, as if expecting him to finally understand the error of his ways.

“So… nothing whimsical, nothing cute,” Regulus echoes. “You’re saying you need something more… valiant.”

“Exactly,” James replies, clearly relieved that he’s finally getting his point across. He settles back down beside Regulus, giving him an encouraging look. “So, how about we try again? But please, Reg, no Minnie Mouse this time, or I swear it’ll ruin everything. I mean it.”

Regulus tilts his head, lips pursed as he pretends to consider it. Then, with a casual shrug, he leans back against the couch, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest, and says.

“You know, actually… I’m not really feeling it anymore.” He lets out a light sigh, his voice tinged with disappointment but so clearly, almost maddeningly, insincere.

“What?”

Regulus shrugs again, keeping his expression blank, as though it’s all just a matter of timing.

“Yeah… I dunno, maybe it’s all this talk of swords and kings. Kind of killed the mood.”

James stares at him, momentarily speechless. “You can’t be serious—Regulus, I just—” He stops, rubbing his forehead in defeat.

Regulus just gives him a small, infuriatingly innocent smile.

James lets out a long, frustrated sigh, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright, I won’t push it. If you’re not in the mood, we’ll drop it. I’m not here to make you uncomfortable.”

They sit in silence for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts, the charged atmosphere settling into something almost companionable. James relaxes a little, the remnants of his flustered frustration slowly fading as he leans back into the cushions, arms crossed, gazing somewhere off in the distance.

Regulus shifts beside him, and then, casually, he glances at James and asks, “So… do you maybe want to watch Mickey Mouse?”

James’ face goes completely blank.

༻༺

James leans back in his chair, struggling to keep his own composure as he finishes recounting the night to Fabian and Gideon, who are already on the verge of losing it. The moment he gets to Regulus’ final line—the suggestion to “watch Mickey Mouse”—Fabian lets out a snort, completely unable to hold back anymore. Gideon follows suit, and within seconds, they’re both doubled over, clutching their sides, laughter spilling out in uncontrollable waves.

“Wait, wait,” Fabian gasps, trying to catch his breath, his face flushed with mirth, “So, he’s been teasing you—dropping Minnie Mouse hints—and you actually thought you had him? You thought he was serious?”

James rolls his eyes, cheeks flushed as he watches his two friends practically in hysterics, but even he can’t resist a self-deprecating smile, “Yes, Fab, alright? For a moment there, I really thought we were onto something,” he shakes his head, burying his face in his hands, “He played me like a damn fiddle.”

Gideon, wheezing with laughter, collapses back against the couch, wiping tears from his eyes, “James, mate, I’m sorry, but… Minnie Mouse? And then he asks if you want to watch Mickey Mouse right after you’ve given up?” he lets out another laugh, his shoulders shaking, completely undone, “This is… honestly, I think I’m in love with the guy myself now. Absolute menace.”

Fabian, barely able to breathe, nods, giving James a mocking salute, “You’ve met your match, Potter. No one else could’ve thrown you off like that. And the fact you actually explained to him why Minnie Mouse wasn’t, you know, ‘majestic’ enough…” he trails off into another fit of laughter, practically falling out of his seat.

James groans, rubbing a hand over his face, “Look, it was all going fine until he pulled out Minnie Mouse. How was I supposed to know it was all an act?”

Fabian and Gideon exchange glances, then dissolve into laughter all over again, their voices echoing through the room, both thoroughly entertained at James’ expense. James can’t help but chuckle along with them, realizing just how absurd the entire night sounds in hindsight.

Fabian, still wheezing with laughter, manages to pull himself together long enough to slap James on the shoulder, his eyes glinting with mischief, “Come on, Potter. You need to keep it together, or there’s no way we’re landing that Horcrux contract. They’re expecting a professional, not some guy who gets outsmarted by Minnie Mouse.”

James rolls his eyes, though he can’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, yeah, I remember. Keep it together, don’t lose my head. Got it.”

Gideon leans forward, his face settling into a smirk, “Well, if you’re going to pull it off, then maybe you should try actually taking Regulus out somewhere decent. Treat him right. You know, a real date,” his tone is half-mocking, half-serious, clearly enjoying how far he can push this.

James considers it, running a hand through his hair as he throws out a few ideas, “I don’t know… Dinner, maybe? Or, I don’t know, something more relaxed like a gallery or that rooftop place everyone goes to—”

But Gideon waves him off, grinning, “Take him to a sappy, tear-jerking melodrama. You two were already watching one at your place, right? Might as well lean into it. Plus, maybe Mickey Mouse won’t come up there.”

Fabian practically loses it again, nearly sliding off his chair as James glares at both of them, his face half-amused, half-exasperated.

“Oh, come on,” James mutters, but he can’t help the laugh that escapes him, “Fine. Melodramatic movie night it is, then.”

Fabian, barely keeping a straight face, claps James on the back, his eyes shining with barely suppressed laughter, “And don’t forget to be extra gentlemanly,” he says, his voice laced with mock seriousness, “Go full-on romantic. Be soft, attentive. Get him Cherry Coke,” here, Fabian nearly breaks, biting his lip as he tries to keep his laughter contained, “In fact, buy him the biggest Cherry Coke they have.”

James rolls his eyes, but Fabian isn’t done, “And for God’s sake, wear that leather jacket. You know, so when he gets cold, you can do that dramatic thing where you wrap it around his shoulders. Total gentleman move. We need him all buttered up and impressed before the gala,” Fabian adds with a wicked grin, “We’re talking roses and moonlight, Potter.”

Gideon nods along, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, “Yeah, mate. Reel him in, charm him right off his feet. Think of it as a business necessity if that helps.”

James, blushing and laughing despite himself, leans back, half-glaring at both of them, “You two are unbelievable,” he mutters, but he can’t hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “But fine, you want Cherry Coke and leather jacket moves? I’ll give you Cherry Coke and leather jacket moves.”

As the laughter fades and the teasing settles, James finds himself grinning, though his thoughts are already shifting, turning over the plan he’s just set in motion. Securing this contract with Horcrux Diamond could be a turning point for him, for all of them. And if charming Regulus Black is part of sealing the deal, well, James is ready to bring his A-game.

He leans back, folding his arms, letting his mind wander to the possibilities. He can picture it clearly—a date that plays on all the classic touches Fabian and Gideon had suggested, each just over-the-top enough to be endearing. The leather jacket, the oversized Cherry Coke, even that old-school move of offering his jacket in the dark street if Regulus hints at being cold. He can imagine the raised eyebrow Regulus might give him, that smirk he wears so well, mingled with just enough scepticism to keep things interesting.

But James knows it’ll take more than surface-level charm to win over Regulus. He’ll have to be attentive, subtle, allowing Regulus to feel in control even as he guides the night with purpose. He’ll ask him about things Regulus cares about, things that get him talking, and throw in compliments that sound almost accidental. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll lean in a bit closer, let his hand brush against Regulus’ as they leave, just enough to plant the idea in his mind, to leave Regulus wondering.

By the end of the night, James is sure of one thing—he’ll make Regulus remember it. He’ll give him an evening so smooth, so carefully orchestrated, that Regulus won’t be able to shake it. And when it comes time for the gala, Regulus won’t just be willing to show up; he’ll be all in, drawn back to that one unforgettable night.

A smirk spreads across James’ face as the plan solidifies. He’s going to make it work—charm, subtlety, and the perfect mix of romantic gestures. And by the end of it all, both Regulus and that Horcrux Diamond contract will be his.

༻༺

Regulus lays on Lily’s couch, one leg crossed over the other as he recounts the events of his night with James. He’s trying to keep his cool, telling the story as casually as possible, but there’s a smug gleam in his eyes that Lily picks up on immediately.

The second he reaches the part about “Minnie Mouse,” Lily lets out a loud, unrestrained laugh, clutching her stomach as she doubles over, “Wait—hell,” she gasps, her eyes wide with disbelief, “you actually called his cock… you called it Minnie Mouse?”

Regulus’ lips quirk up, an almost imperceptible smirk breaking through his usual composed expression, “I had to do something,” he says smoothly, leaning back with an air of satisfaction, “And I knew he’d lose it if I threw something absurd at him,” he shrugs, feigning innocence, “Worked perfectly, didn’t it?”

Lily wipes at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, still laughing as she shakes her head, “Regulus, you’re incredible. I mean, you know he’s trying to be the charming romantic, and you go and do that?” she pauses, her face breaking into a wide grin, “Poor James. He didn’t stand a chance, did he?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, looking as if he couldn’t care less, but there’s a glint of humour in his eyes, “Well, it’s not like I was going to make it easy for him,” he says, “Besides, you told me to keep him on his toes, didn’t you?”

Lily laughs harder, throwing her head back, her voice echoing through the quiet apartment, “Oh, I didn’t think you’d go that far. But… Minnie Mouse?” she grins, shaking her head in disbelief and slowly rising from a couch, “You’ve got a flair for chaos, I’ll give you that.”

As Lily finishes mumbling about Regulus being a genius, they make their way to the kitchen. Lily is still chuckling to herself as she pulls open a cabinet and starts gathering ingredients for cocktails. Regulus hops up onto the countertop, crossing his legs as he watches her work with an amused smirk, arms folded casually. Lily waves him off when he offers to help, grinning.

“I’ve got this,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with a mischievous look, “You just sit there and keep looking mysterious.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he stays put, glancing around her kitchen. The space is still echoing with laughter from his latest story, and he can’t help feeling slightly victorious for the chaos he’s stirred up tonight.

Lily starts mixing ingredients and shoots him a thoughtful look, “Alright, so here’s my idea,” she says, giving the cocktail shaker a firm shake, “If you’re going to keep him hooked—and it sounds like you are—why not do something completely unexpected? Make it look like you’re getting too serious, too fast,” she raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips as she watches his reaction.

Regulus tilts his head, intrigued, though he’s careful to keep his expression neutral, “Too serious?” he echoes, one eyebrow raising slightly, “You mean, scare him off a little?”

“Exactly,” Lily grins, pouring out a cocktail into a glass and sliding it over to him, “You’ve already got him hanging on your every word; now, if you start acting like you’re already planning your wedding or something, he’ll be totally thrown off balance. It’s the last thing he’d expect.”

Regulus considers this, taking a slow sip of the cocktail, letting the idea settle, “So… play it like I’m ridiculously committed?” he smirks, the thought obviously amusing him, “Planning dates weeks ahead, dropping hints about a future together? Like I’m already mapping out our lives?”

Lily nods, clearly pleased, “Yes, exactly! And make it a bit… theatrical. Just enough to keep him guessing. One minute, you’re all in; the next, you’re distant and hard to read. He won’t know what hit him.”

Regulus raises his glass, nodding thoughtfully, “You know, Evans,” he says with a small, wicked grin, “it’s you who might just be a genius.”

Lily clinks her glass against his, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Of course I am. Now, drink up. We’ve got a plan to craft.”

A few cocktails later, the kitchen is filled with the warm haze of laughter and the faint hum of music from Lily’s speakers. Regulus feels the pleasant buzz of alcohol settling over him, loosening his usually guarded demeanour as he leans back against the countertop, watching Lily with an amused grin.

Then, suddenly, Lily disappears for a second and returns, arms piled high with magazines, notebooks, loose sheets of paper, and a rainbow assortment of markers. With a dramatic flourish, she drops the whole load onto the kitchen floor, the stack spilling out across the tiles.

“Alright!” she declares, wobbling slightly before sitting cross-legged on the floor amid the chaos. She grabs a bright pink marker, her eyes sparkling with determination, “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. We’re talking full planning mode, Regulus. Mood boards, vision statements—” she waves her hands around, clearly already too tipsy to keep her thoughts in order, but she powers on, “We’re making sure you’re ready to be the most overwhelming boyfriend he’s ever had.”

Regulus stares at her, bewildered, as she holds up a crumpled page of a bridal magazine featuring a smiling couple in an overly extravagant garden wedding, “What… is all this?” he asks, brows furrowed as he glances between the mess of magazines, paper, and markers scattered across the kitchen floor.

Lily smirks, unbothered by his confusion, “We’re making your love album, obviously,” she grins, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she grabs her laptop from the counter and thrusts it into his hands, “Come on, open up Photoshop. We’re gonna get serious about this.”

Regulus’ jaw drops as he takes the laptop, blinking at her, “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope,” Lily laughs, dropping down beside him and nudging him with her shoulder, “If you’re going to freak him out, you might as well commit fully. We’re talking photoshopped vacations, future homes, maybe a fake pet or two. A vision of ‘your life together.’ Let’s get creative.”

Regulus looks down at the laptop, his lips curling into an unwilling smile as he opens the program. There’s a thrill in the ridiculousness of it all, a playful challenge he can’t quite resist. Lily leans over, flipping through the magazines, picking out backgrounds for “vacation photos” and clipping out captions that she insists are perfect for the “story of their romance.”

As they piece together absurd “memories” and craft captions that border on cheesy romance, the laughter grows louder, filling the kitchen, spilling out into the quiet of the night. Regulus feels lighter than he has in weeks, the tension of his usual guardedness melting away. And as he leans back, glancing over their outrageous “album,” he realises that this chaotic, ridiculous night with Lily is exactly what he needed.

The image on the screen is a poorly photoshopped picture of him and James in front of a tacky beach sunset, with “Our Forever” scrawled underneath in flowery script. Regulus shakes his head, laughing so hard he has to lean on Lily for support, their shared laughter echoing in the warmth of the kitchen.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye, still grinning, “If he doesn’t run after seeing this, then maybe he’s the one who’s completely unhinged.”

Lily snorts, raising her drink in a mock toast, “To future Mr. and Mr. Black-Potter,” she declares, her eyes sparkling.

As the hours pass, the kitchen floor becomes a chaotic sprawl of paper clippings, half-finished drawings, and open magazines, all contributing to what they now call “The Great Romance Album.” Regulus and Lily hunch over the laptop, Photoshop open and cluttered with layers of absurdly edited “memories.” Each photo is more ridiculous than the last—a badly cropped image of Regulus and James in matching sweaters, “posing” in front of a cosy cabin; a glamorous shot of them holding a golden retriever puppy they don’t own; even a future “wedding” picture, complete with flower arches and a sunset backdrop straight out of a rom-com.

Regulus snorts, clicking to add yet another tacky heart-shaped frame around the beach photo, “I think this one really sells the delusion.”

Lily nods seriously, though her eyes are bright with laughter, “Absolutely. And don’t forget to add that sparkle effect,” she taps the screen, giggling, and nearly topples over from her spot beside him, fueled by the cocktails and the sheer absurdity of their project, “I mean, James won’t stand a chance. He’ll be halfway to a breakdown before he realises he’s been set up.”

Regulus leans back, admiring the utter chaos they’ve created on the screen, each “memory” more outrageous than the last, “You think he’ll buy it?” he asks, though he can already picture James’ face, the mix of horror and confusion as he flips through this masterpiece of absurd romance.

“Oh, he’ll buy it,” Lily says confidently, holding back a grin as she adds the finishing touch—a glittery caption over their “wedding” photo that reads, “Soulmates Forever.” She sits back, satisfied, “And when he does, it’ll be his undoing. I mean, he’s been so determined to woo you, hasn’t he? Now he’ll think he’s succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.”

They both dissolve into laughter, clutching their sides, tears streaming as they look at the final product. The “album” is absolutely ridiculous, a mix of over-the-top romance and horrendous Photoshop skills, but it’s perfect.

As the first hints of dawn start to creep through the kitchen window, Lily leans back, giving Regulus a sly smile, “Well, I kinda pity James now,” she declares, raising an imaginary toast in the air, “Here’s to the most chaotic romance he’ll ever experience.”

Regulus clinks his imaginary glass with hers, still grinning, “To James’ downfall,” he replies, unable to keep the laughter from bubbling up once more.

They collapse in laughter again, and for a moment, it’s just the two of them in that kitchen, bonded by the mischief, exhausted but thoroughly pleased.

Chapter Text

Regulus chews on his mouthful of sushi, sitting in the lounge area of The Daily Prophet, watching as Mary flips through the absurdly pink love album, her eyes widening with every page she turns. She covers her mouth to stifle a laugh, but it’s no use—by the time she reaches the page with the “Paris engagement” photo, complete with a crooked Eiffel Tower and an over-saturated sunset, she’s practically howling.

“No,” Mary chokes out, holding up the album and shaking her head, “You’re actually planning to show this to him today? Like, you’re going to look him in the eyes and try to sell him this fantasy?”

Regulus shrugs, feigning nonchalance as he takes another piece of sushi, “Why not? I’ve gone this far, haven’t I? Might as well see how much he can handle.”

Lily grins, nudging him with her elbow, “Oh, he’s not just handling it, he’s falling for it. And this?” she gestures at the album, sparkling with heart stickers and full of “memories” they created at three in the morning, “This is going to seal the deal. There’s no way he’ll be able to resist your ‘shared family dreams.’”

Mary snorts, still poring over the pages, “Hold on, so you’re telling me you spent hours photoshopping not just one fake child, but a whole family—complete with a kitten named Sprinkles?”

Regulus nods, deadpan, “Sprinkles is a vital part of the family unit. Very photogenic, if I do say so myself.”

Mary flips to the page with Sprinkles, a stock photo of a little black kitten sitting between two children in Christmas sweaters. She gasps, laughing, “I can’t believe this. And wait… did you really name the kids Cepheus and Cassiopeia?”

Lily bursts out laughing, taking a sip of her drink before jumping in, “It was Reg’s idea! He said it gave the family a ‘cosmic elegance’ and kept the tradition of star names and stuff.”

Regulus smirks, leaning back, “Look, if I’m going to drag James into this imaginary life, I want it to have some class. Cepheus and Cassiopeia are classic names.”

Mary laughs even harder, clutching the album as she shakes her head in disbelief, “So that’s the plan? Present him with this… masterpiece, watch him cringe his way through it, and see if he can make it to the last page?”

Lily grins wickedly, “Absolutely. I just want to know how long he can keep a straight face while pretending he actually sees a future with Sprinkles.”

Mary closes the album, still chuckling as she shakes her head. But after a moment, her laughter fades, and she looks at Regulus with a curious, slightly concerned expression. “Reg, don’t you think… this is all a little fast?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, “I mean, it’s only been four days, and you’re already bringing in family albums and imaginary children. Isn’t this… a bit intense?”

Lily snorts, rolling her eyes. “Actually, now it’s been five days, Mary,” she corrects, glancing over at Regulus with a pointed look, “And we only have ten total to work with, remember? If we’re going to scare him off, we can’t afford to hold back. Every day counts.”

Regulus sighs, shrugging as he glances down at the album. “Exactly. Besides, if he’s this invested, he’s not going to be scared off by anything halfway. Might as well go all in,” he says, though there’s a slight flicker of doubt that he quickly shoves down.

Mary shakes her head, smirking, “Alright, I get it. Just… try not to break his spirit entirely, okay? I almost feel bad for him.”

Lily grins, nudging Regulus, “Oh, please. The guy is practically begging for it at this point. And if he’s still hanging on by the tenth day, he’ll have earned a medal.”

Regulus glances between his friends, his expression hardening with determination, “Trust me, by the time half of this week is over, James Potter will either be long gone… or he’ll be completely out of his mind.”

“I really can’t believe you will be dropping this bomb right on his head,” Mary asks, raising an eyebrow as she studies the ridiculously pink cover of the album, “The kids, the family kitten, the matching sweaters, Hawaii vacation. All of this mess.”

Regulus shrugs, feigning nonchalance, though he can feel a slight pang of secondhand embarrassment just looking at it again, “Yeah, well, why not? If he survived me calling his dick Minnie Mouse, this album should be a piece of cake.”

Lily bursts out laughing, leaning across the table, “Oh, please, after that little stunt? Honestly, I’d have thought that was the end of it right there! You practically handed him an exit, Reg. He should have run the second you started with… that name.”

Mary is cackling at this point, setting the album on the table and giving Regulus a look of amused horror, “It’s unbelievable that after the Minnie Mouse Incident, he’s still calling you and planning to meet up again. The guy’s a glutton for punishment.”

Regulus sighs, placing his sushi chopsticks on the lid of their box, “I mean, that’s exactly what I can’t figure out. Any sane person would’ve tapped out after that, right? But he just… keeps coming back.”

Mary lets out a low whistle, picking up her own chopsticks as she smirks at him, “Guess that’s why you’re stepping it up tonight, then. If he didn’t flee after Minnie Mouse, you’re going to need something next-level if you actually want to scare him off.”

Lily nods eagerly, pointing at the album with a wicked grin, “Exactly. That’s why we spent all night on this ‘love album’—ten days, Reg! We’re on a tight schedule here. If he’s sticking around after all that, then this is exactly what we need to send him running.”

Regulus opens the album and glances at the page showing him and James in front of a tacky, poorly-Photoshopped Eiffel Tower with the caption Our Engagement in Paris, the entire scene so exaggerated it looks like a cartoon. He fights back a grin, imagining James’ reaction, “Fine, but remind me to not make eye contact with him when he starts flipping through this thing. I can barely look at it without cringing myself.”

Lily snorts, nudging him. “Good luck with that. If you can keep a straight face tonight, he won’t stand a chance. Besides,” she adds with a mischievous glint, “if he does stick around, you’ll know you’ve really got him on the hook.”

Mary shakes her head as she glances between Regulus and the album sprawled across the table, “I just don’t get it, Reg. Why hasn’t he bailed yet? Dick petname, all the hysterical comments, the emotional whiplash—you’re throwing every red flag in existence, and he’s still hanging on. What is this guy’s deal?”

Regulus sighs, staring down at the uneaten sushi on his plate, “Believe me, Mary, I’m just as confused as you are. I thought talking to his dick would be the end of it, but no. Instead, he’s calling me baby, inviting me on dates, and acting like he’s completely unbothered by any of it.”

Lily smirks, leaning back in her chair with an amused glint in her eye, “Maybe he actually likes you, Reg. Maybe he’s genuinely interested in you, despite your best efforts to drive him up the wall.”

Regulus scoffs, crossing his arms. “That can’t be it. I’ve been doing everything possible to make this a nightmare for him. I mean, come on, no one could genuinely like this—” he gestures vaguely, indicating the chaotic mix of awkward dates, over-the-top dramatics, and the looming reveal of the love album still waiting for James, “If he had a single ounce of common sense, he’d have been out of there by day two.”

Mary snorts, eyeing him with a raised brow, “Are you sure, though? You’re saying that, but you’ve put in a lot of effort. And from what I hear, James isn’t exactly the most predictable guy, is he?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, huffing in frustration, “It’s not like I’m making this easy for him. Everything I’ve done has been calculated to be just enough to drive any reasonable person away,” he pauses, almost exasperated, as he adds, “I’m practically handing him reasons to walk away.”

Lily grins, tapping her fingers on the table thoughtfully, “Well, maybe that’s where you’re underestimating him. Clearly, he’s more interested than you think. And honestly, Reg, maybe part of him actually finds your chaos… I don’t know, endearing? ”

Regulus gapes, shaking his head emphatically, “Endearing? Me? He barely knows me, and what he does know is an absolute mess by design,” he gestures at the album, still sitting innocently on the table between them. “He hasn’t even seen the love album yet, and that alone should be the final straw.”

Mary bites back a laugh, eyeing him with a smirk, “I don’t know, Reg. Maybe he’s just a… lover boy. Or maybe…” she trails off, giving him a sly look, “maybe you’re a bit more charming than you realize.”

Regulus frowns, trying to brush off her words as ridiculous, but a tiny flicker of doubt lingers. “This isn’t charm,” he mutters, picking up his chopsticks, “It’s sabotage.”

Lily shrugs, popping a piece of sushi into her mouth, “If you say so. But if James survives this next level of sabotage, Reg, you might have to admit that he’s genuinely into you. Just something to consider.”

Regulus scowls, stuffing a piece of sushi into his mouth to avoid responding. The thought leaves him unsettled, and as much as he wants to laugh it off, he can’t help wondering, just for a second, if there might be a sliver of truth in what they’re saying.

As they sit around the table, eating their lunch and still flipping through the absurd pages of the love album, the door to the lounge swings open, and in walks Rita, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She’s holding a cup of coffee, her gaze instantly locking onto the three of them with that sharp, scrutinizing look she has when she’s about to ask questions they’d rather not answer.

Regulus freezes, mid-bite, then tries to chew as quickly and quietly as possible, giving Mary and Lily a subtle look of warning.

Rita stops just in front of their table, eyebrows raised. “Well, well. Aren’t you three having a cozy little lunch,” she says, her tone light but with that unmistakable edge of interest. She glances pointedly at Regulus, “So, Regulus, I assume that means you’ve got plenty of progress to report on the article?”

Regulus clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady, “Of course. I’m—uh, working through the… material. Gathering everything I need,” he manages a faint smile, glancing down at his half-eaten sushi to avoid her gaze.

Rita gives him a thin, knowing smile, setting her coffee down on the table as she tilts her head, “ Gathering, hm? Well, I certainly hope it’s enough. We’re nearly halfway through the deadline. I expect something substantial, Regulus. You’ve been given a golden opportunity here.”

Lily jumps in, her voice bright and smooth, cutting off any chance of Rita’s questions digging deeper, “Oh, he’s definitely putting in the work. Right, Regulus?” she kicks him lightly under the table, a reminder to look confident.

Regulus nods, forcing a confident look as he meets Rita’s gaze. “Absolutely. I’m giving it everything I’ve got,” he says, trying to sound genuine.

Rita narrows her eyes, clearly not quite convinced but willing to let it slide for now. “Good,” she says, picking up her coffee with a graceful nod, “Just remember, I expect nothing less than a full and captivating story. Don’t disappoint me.”

With that, she turns on her heel and strides out of the lounge, her heels echoing down the hall as she disappears.

As soon as she’s gone, Mary lets out a relieved breath, slumping back in her chair. “Bloody hell, she’s terrifying. Why does she always stare at everyone like that? I felt like she could see right through me.”

Lily chuckles, rolling her eyes. “She’s just waiting for an excuse to chew someone out. Don’t worry, Reg, you’ve got this,” she glances at him, grinning, “You’ve got… plenty of material to work with already.”

Regulus lets out a shaky laugh, pushing his box of sushi away. “Material? Sure, let’s call it that,” he mutters, rubbing his temple, “I just need to make sure James doesn’t find out that the whole thing is… well, basically a setup.”

Mary smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Please. At the rate he’s going, he wouldn’t care even if he did know. I mean, the guy’s still coming back after Minnie Mouse. I think he’s practically begging to be part of your article.”

Regulus groans, hiding his face in his hands, “That’s what I’m afraid of. If he actually likes me… I don’t know if I can go through with this.”

Lily nudges him, a glint of sympathy in her eyes, “Look, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he did. But either way, you’ve got five days left, and plenty of time to get the story. Let’s focus on that first.”

Regulus nods slowly, lifting his head with a sigh, “You’re right. Five days. I just need to keep him on the hook… and survive until the deadline.”

༻༺

It’s just after lunch, and James is slouched back in his office chair, hands tucked behind his head, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. The morning had been a whirlwind of meetings, with barely any time to catch their breath, let alone eat. They’d been wrapped up in a conference discussing the Horcrux Diamond project, focusing on the finances tied to publishing a glitzy photoshoot in major fashion magazines. Now, with a small lull in the day, James, Fabian, and Gideon are lounging in their chairs, half-reclining as they pass the time with idle conversation.

Gideon stretches his arms overhead, yawning before glancing over at James with a knowing grin. “So, just taking Regulus to the movies, huh?” he says, shaking his head, “In my opinion, we’ve fucked this up. The movie date is a little too easy, James, we’ve got to think better.”

Fabian nods, smirking, “He’s right. If you want to make an impression, put in the effort. Start before the movie—pick him up, take him somewhere nice. Something that says, ‘I’m actually trying here.’ You know, make it a proper date.”

James rolls his eyes, though a small smile plays at his lips, “Alright, alright, I get it. Pick him up, take him somewhere a bit more… impressive.”

Gideon nods approvingly, leaning forward. “Exactly. You pick him up, but don’t just drive to the theater. Take him for a walk first. Find a nice spot to grab a coffee, maybe, or walk to the cinema on foot. It’s more personal, and hey—if it’s cold, you offer him your jacket, just as we planned. Classic move.”

James lets out a small laugh, nodding thoughtfully, “Yeah, that actually sounds… nice. I think he’d like that.” He can already picture it in his mind—Regulus beside him, a cool evening, some casual conversation as they walk, and maybe even the chance to catch Regulus off guard with a small, genuine gesture.

But as he agrees to Gideon’s plan, his mind drifts, his thoughts circling back to the enigma that Regulus is. What is it about him that’s so hard to decipher? One minute, he’s charming and mysterious, practically daring James to figure him out. The next, he’s pushing boundaries with that maddening smirk, testing James’ patience with that “Minnie Mouse” thing, or whatever strange, unpredictable behavior he’ll bring tonight. None of it makes any sense, and yet James can’t stop trying to make sense of it.

Why is he spending so much time trying to understand Regulus, anyway? He’s treating it like a puzzle that he can’t leave alone, like something he has to solve. But this was supposed to be simple: play along, get close, charm him enough to secure the Horcrux Diamond contract. That’s it. But it’s becoming harder and harder for James to convince himself that it’s just about the contract.

James frowns, feeling the growing weight of uncertainty. This was supposed to be a game, a business tactic, nothing more. He can’t afford to let it become something else. Letting himself get attached would be a mistake; one he’s not willing to make, no matter how fascinating Regulus might be.

He sits up a little straighter, repeating it like a mantra in his mind. This is for the contract. The way Regulus keeps James guessing, keeps him wanting to know more is just a part of the challenge. 

And challenges are what he’s good at.

Fabian and Gideon exchange a glance. “Right, then,” Fabian says, stretching as he gets up, “Let’s go grab some coffee.”

Gideon stands as well, giving James a look, “Want anything?”

James nods, “Yeah, get me a strong black, but with milk and a spoonful of sugar.”

Gideon raises a thumb in acknowledgment, and they start to head out. But just then, the office phone’s sharp ring breaks the lull in their afternoon, slicing through the easy chatter with a sense of urgency. James shares a look with Fabian and Gideon before he reaches out, his fingers curling around the coiled cord as he lifts the receiver. He has a strange feeling about this call, an anticipation he can't quite shake. For a second, he wonders if it’s Regulus—another change of plans, another challenge—but as soon as he hears the voice on the other end, James realizes it’s someone else entirely.

“James,” says Minerva. She doesn’t introduce herself; she never does. With her, there’s no need for pleasantries, no time wasted on formality.

“Minerva,” James replies, adjusting his posture in his chair, feeling the weight of her authority even over the phone. The last time they’d spoken in person was in her office—a space as elegant and austere as she was, her presence alone enough to unsettle even the most confident of people.

“Progress?” she asks now, her tone sharp and expectant. James can practically see her, hands folded neatly on her desk, that unwavering look in her eyes.

He takes a steadying breath, reminding himself that he’s prepared for this. “It’s going well,” he says, keeping his voice as calm as possible, “Steady progress. I have… someone in mind.”

Minerva’s pause is almost tangible, a heavy silence that sharpens the tension. “ Steady isn’t a guarantee of success, James,” she replies, her tone steely, “You assured me you could handle this. So far, I’ve allowed you the freedom to manage things your way, but this is your final stretch. You’ve got four days until the gala. I need to see results.”

James tightens his grip on the receiver, forcing himself to keep his response confident, “I’m aware of the timeline, Minerva. I’ll be bringing someone with me, someone who fits everything you asked for.”

“Good,” she says, though there’s an edge to her voice that keeps him on high alert, “I hope you understand what’s riding on this. Rabastan and Rodolphus have already presented a complete proposal to the board for the new campaign, one that’s polished, cohesive, and backed with impressive resources. If you can’t meet our expectations, James, I’ll have no choice but to hand the account over to them.”

The weight of her words settles heavily, as if the stakes had just doubled. James glances at Fabian and Gideon, who are watching him with cautious, understanding expressions.

Minerva continues, her voice unwavering, “This is about more than just one campaign, James. It’s about showing that you understand how to connect with people, to bring out the real value Horcrux Diamond promises. I expect you to show us, at the gala, that you’ve succeeded,” she pauses, adding a final note of warning, “If you can’t convince me, I won’t hesitate to give this account to someone who can.”

James forces a smile he knows she can’t see, nodding as he replies, “Understood. I’ll be ready, Minerva. You won’t be disappointed.”

There’s a faint, almost approving pause, then a sharp click as she disconnects.

James lowers the receiver, his hand lingering on it for a second longer than necessary. He releases a slow breath, mentally shaking off the lingering intensity of Minerva’s words.

Fabian is already watching him closely. “So? What did she say?” he asks, leaning forward with an expectant look.

“Nothing interesting,” James says with a casual shrug, trying to downplay it, “Just a reminder that I’ve got four days to pull this off—or she’ll hand the account to the Lestranges. Usual motivational pep talk.”

Fabian raises an eyebrow, his mouth pulling into a smirk, “Then we need to make sure that contract ends up with the Prewetts, not the Lestranges,” he narrows his eyes slightly, his tone turning a shade more serious, “No one’s going to let them swoop in at the last second and steal what’s ours.”

James huffs a quiet laugh, waving a dismissive hand, “Relax. I’m working on it. Regulus will be wrapped around my finger by the time we get to that gala.”

Gideon grins, “You sound confident. Good. Because if we pull this off, the Prewetts and you? We’ll be unstoppable,” he nudges Fabian with his elbow, adding, “And once we’ve got that contract, the Lestrange brothers can stick to their polished nonsense and look on in envy.”

James lets out a low chuckle, though his mind drifts briefly to the sheer unpredictability of Regulus. Still, he shakes it off, nodding with a smirk, “I’ve got it under control. By the time the gala rolls around, Regulus will look like he’s ready to buy a lifetime’s worth of Horcrux Diamonds, all while watching me with heart-eyes.”

Fabian chuckles, giving him a reassuring clap on the shoulder, “Keep that confidence up—we’re counting on it,” he tosses James a final encouraging look as he and Gideon head to the door.

James salutes them as they head out, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the looming deadline. He rubs his hands over his face, exhaling deeply as he rises from his chair. 

Walking over to the wide office window, James gazes out over London, taking in the city’s warm, late-afternoon glow. The light filters down in a gentle haze, bathing the cityscape in shades of gold and amber. Below, people move along the bustling sidewalks, weaving in and out of the shadows cast by tall buildings. Street vendors linger by the curb, selling coffee and pastries; couples stroll hand in hand, laughing softly as they walk. Cars hum past, their glossy roofs catching flecks of sunlight as they go.

It’s the kind of day that makes everything seem lighter, like the world’s paused in a warm, easy moment before the evening rush.

James smiles faintly, feeling a pang of nostalgia at the sight. He thinks briefly of his mother, the way she used to take him on weekend walks through the city when he was younger, showing him all the hidden little places that most people overlook. He makes a mental note to call her tonight, to catch up with her before his thoughts are entirely consumed by the whirlwind that is Regulus Black.

But before that… James needs to figure out his plan for tonight. Regulus is already a mystery—cool, unpredictable, and clever enough to see right through shallow gestures. Whatever he comes up with has to be thoughtful. Sincere, but with just the right edge to keep him intrigued.

He watches as a group of friends on the street below burst into laughter, their faces bright with joy, and an idea forms slowly in his mind. Tonight, he decides, can’t be a flashy performance. Regulus doesn’t need—or want—that. No, tonight, James needs to create something meaningful. The walk to the cinema, a quiet conversation, a small gesture that’s authentic enough to make Regulus pause.

James lets out a slow breath, nodding to himself. If he plays this right, if he can find the right balance, tonight might just be the night he finally gets Regulus to fall for him miserably.

༻༺

Regulus steps into the bright, bustling office of Horcrux Diamond, balancing a few bags from the vegetarian café in one hand and, in the other, clutching the enormous pink “love album”. It’s comically over-the-top, plastered with sparkly hearts and swirling calligraphy that spells out Our Memories across the front in the most nauseating font they could find. Even as he carries it, Regulus fights back a smirk, recalling Lily’s words as they’d glued on the final gaudy heart sticker: This will absolutely wreck James.

He weaves through the busy lobby, nodding briefly at the receptionist who gives the album a curious glance before pointing him toward James’ office on the upper floor. Perfect. 

Regulus makes his way to the elevator, already imagining James’ reaction to the absurdity of the album—if everything goes as planned, it’ll be the perfect way to catch him off guard.

As he steps out on the upper floor, he spots James’ office at the end of the hall, glass walls revealing him hunched over his desk, seemingly deep in thought. Regulus straightens up, adjusting his hold on the bags and walking with a confident air, letting the curiosity of the office staff follow him as he approaches. He can already feel the eyes on the pink monstrosity in his hands, and he relishes the thought of James’ coworkers wondering what on earth he’s about to deliver.

He knocks lightly on the door, catching James’ attention as he glances up from his work. The instant James’ eyes meet his, Regulus gives him a slight, knowing smile, lifting the café bags just enough to make his purpose clear.

“Delivery,” he says smoothly, stepping into the office. He lets the door swing shut behind him and casually places the bags on James’ desk, “After our morning conversation over the phone, I figured you’d be too busy to remember lunch, so I took the liberty. It’s from my favourite vegetarian cafe. Thought you could use a break from all that… heavy stuff.”

James raises an eyebrow, looking faintly puzzled but amused as he pulls out a salad that, in all honesty, even Regulus thinks looks borderline inedible. “Didn’t know I’d signed up for the meat-free plan,” James remarks, clearly trying to sound lighthearted.

“Well,” Regulus says, keeping his tone airy, “I just thought maybe you’d want to try eating a little cleaner. You know, so we’re, like… more in sync,” he widens his eyes, feigning earnestness, watching as James stifles a sigh but still manages a polite smile.

“Appreciate it,” James says, unwrapping the salad without much enthusiasm, “Didn’t expect to see you here, though. Especially since I tried calling after the morning convo, and you didn’t answer.”

Regulus shrugs, giving him an apologetic look. “Phone died, and work kept me busy. They let me go a bit early, though. Finished up an article for the mini-column,” he says smoothly, before his expression shifts into something more mischievous. With a flourish, he holds up the pink album, grinning in a way that he hopes seems sweet.

James raises an eyebrow, staring at the album as if it might bite. “What… is this?” he asks, his tone a careful blend of politeness and disbelief.

Regulus feels a pang of embarrassment twist in his stomach, but he keeps the grin plastered on his face, leaning in as if unveiling a masterpiece. “It’s for us,” he says, mustering a sickly-sweet tone, placing the garishly decorated album directly in front of James, the glittery hearts and rhinestones gleaming under the office lights like some kitschy beacon of romance, “A little look at our future together. I figured since we’re clearly soulmates, it was time to get serious.”

Regulus watches as James’ eyes widen in disbelief, the slightest hint of panic flashing across his face.

“Right,” James says slowly, eyeing the album as if it might combust, “Of course. Our future.”

Regulus clears his throat, opens the cover, and flips to the first page, where he and Lily have expertly pasted a photoshopped image of him and James standing under an arch of roses, with “Our Dream Wedding” scrawled underneath in an absurdly loopy font. The fake wedding image is embellished with all the clichés: Regulus in a white suit-dress, a flower pinned to his lapel, James in a classic tux, the two of them beaming at each other like lovesick fools. Behind them, rows of white-clothed chairs filled with photoshopped guests complete the scene, along with an exaggerated floral archway and bouquets in every corner.

Regulus watches as James’ expression turns blank, his gaze flicking over the ridiculous scene, clearly at a loss for words.

“I had to try and search the whole Internet to dig up more pictures of you, but everything ended up just fine. Isn’t it great?” Regulus says with a mock-shy smile, feigning a wistful tone, “This is our wedding day. You know, where we say ‘I do’ and vow to love each other forever…” he trails off, biting his lip in an exaggerated display of sweetness. Meanwhile, inside, he’s dying from the absurdity of it all.

James coughs, clearly struggling to respond. “It’s… very detailed,” he manages, his voice slightly strangled.

Encouraged, Regulus flips to the next page, which is even more absurd. Here, he and Lily have pasted a fake “family photo” with him and James awkwardly holding two “babies”—in reality, stock photos of cherubic children with poorly photoshopped hair to make them look “related” to both of them. “Our First Family Photo” is written underneath in overly sentimental script, hearts dotting the i’s.

James’ jaw practically drops as he stares at the image, his face a study in suppressed horror. “So, babies..?” he says faintly, blinking rapidly as if hoping the picture will change if he looks hard enough.

Regulus can barely keep his composure, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from bursting out laughing. He forces a soft, dreamy look, gazing down at the photo like a proud father. “Of course. Don’t you want little ones, James?” he leans in, trying to keep his tone as sugary as possible, “I thought you’d be thrilled to see our future family.”

James’ fingers twitch, as if he’s resisting the urge to slam the album shut. “It’s… a lot to take in,” he says, his voice strained, “I mean, kids. Already. And they’re so… small.”

“Babies tend to be,” Regulus quips, forcing his expression to stay affectionate, as if he’s deeply moved, “And here’s us renovating our future kitchen together,” he says, flipping to an image of them standing in a pristine kitchen, both with ridiculous grins plastered on their faces as they hold paint rollers, “I thought we’d go with something modern, white countertops, all that.”

James nods, rubbing a hand over his face, “Very… collaborative.”

Regulus can hardly keep a straight face himself, but he presses on, “Oh, and this—” he points to the picture of them standing in front of a miniature Eiffel Tower with a banner that reads Our Engagement Trip to Paris. The Eiffel Tower looks oddly squat and misaligned in the background, clearly dropped in with poor Photoshop skills.

“Paris… for our engagement,” James says slowly, nodding along, eyes widening with each turn of the page. He’s clearly overwhelmed but trying to keep up with Regulus’ narration.

Regulus flips to the next page, which features a montage of photos that are, if possible, even more ridiculous: a vacation in Venice, complete with gondola rides; a romantic Parisian café, where they’re feeding each other croissants under the Eiffel Tower; and a ski trip in the Alps, where they’re bundled up in designer snow gear, toasting marshmallows over a photoshopped fire.

“And here,” Regulus says, pointing to the gondola photo, where he and James are lovingly gazing into each other’s eyes on the Grand Canal, “is our romantic trip to Venice. I thought it’d be our third-anniversary celebration,” his stomach churns with secondhand embarrassment, but he presses on, watching as James’ polite smile grows tighter with each turn of the page.

James chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You… really went all out,” he says, his gaze darting to Regulus as if trying to gauge just how serious he is.

“Oh, I did,” Regulus says, his tone as sweet as he can manage, “For us. For our love. ”

James stares at him, half-amused and half-horrified, “It’s… thoughtful, Regulus. Really. I didn’t expect all of this…” he gestures vaguely to the album, a helpless look crossing his face.

Regulus lets out a mock sigh, pretending to be hurt. “Thoughtful?” he echoes, giving James an exaggeratedly wounded look, “I poured my heart into this. I even included a section about our dream home,” he flips to a page showing a huge country house with big windows and a sprawling garden, complete with photoshopped images of the two of them holding keys, grinning like real estate models.

“See?” Regulus adds, tapping the photo as he beams at James, “Just a little place for us to settle down. But big enough for all our… future children.”

James lets out a small, strangled laugh, clearly unsure how to respond, “Yeah… big enough for an entire army,” he looks up, forcing a smile that doesn’t even reach his eyes.

Regulus fights to keep his expression serious, flipping through the album with a flourish until he reaches a page labelled “Our Beautiful Children.” With barely restrained enthusiasm, he says, “And here they are. Look how our little ones have grown up!”

James stares, clearly speechless, his mouth opening and closing silently, like a fish gasping for air. 

Regulus leans in, his expression softening as he pretends to be genuinely hurt. “What’s wrong, James?” he asks, injecting just the right amount of disappointment, “You don’t want to see how the little ones turned out?”

James’ eyes widen in panic, and he swallows, forcing a tight, nervous smile. “No, no, of course I do,” he says, the words coming out through gritted teeth, “I’d love to see… our kids.”

Pleased, Regulus opens to the page, displaying a carefully photoshopped image of two teenagers—both with eerily familiar dark hair, pale skin, and piercing stares. They’re posed like a loving family photo, though Regulus can’t help but feel that the effect is somewhat creepy, especially under the glow of James’ office lights.

“These are our babies. Cassiopeia and Cepheus,” Regulus announces with faux pride, his voice dripping with feigned adoration. 

He watches as James’ eye twitches slightly, the corner of his mouth ticking as he repeats, voice faint, “Cassiopeia… and Cepheus?”

Regulus nods, barely keeping a straight face as he confirms, “Yes. They’re both so smart, you know? Cassiopeia’s on her way to winning a scholarship, and Cepheus—well, he’s thinking of joining the family business,” he doesn’t elaborate, just lets James stew in the absurdity of it all.

James’ forced smile grows stiffer by the second, his gaze shifting from the album to Regulus as if he’s wondering if any of this is real. But Regulus isn’t done. He’s saved the best for last.

“Wait, there’s one more member of the family,” he says, flipping to the final page with deliberate slowness, revealing a photoshopped image of a small, black kitten with comically large, wide eyes and a pink bow around its neck. The caption reads: Meet Sprinkles, the sweetheart of the family.

Regulus doesn’t miss a beat. He pitches his voice higher, adopting an overly affectionate tone as he points to the kitten’s wide-eyed face. “Isn’t he just a little miracle?” he coos, as if genuinely smitten, “Sprinkles will bring so much joy into our lives.”

James blinks rapidly, his expression completely lost as he tries to process the latest addition to this “family.” His mouth opens, but no words come out, his gaze darting between Regulus and the tiny, ridiculous face of the kitten, “Sprinkles…” he echoes, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.

Regulus forces himself to look utterly enraptured, his expression one of pure adoration as he stares down at the fake family, “Isn’t he just the cutest?” he presses, his voice deliberately sickly-sweet as he tilts the album so that James has no choice but to stare right back at the kitten’s wide, vacant eyes.

After a painfully long pause, James gives a strained nod, his voice faint as he mumbles, “Absolutely… adorable.”

Regulus flips the page, and there’s an entire collage of “family” photos with two children and a kitten. There’s a Christmas photo where they’re all wearing matching sweaters, also photoshopped, a barbecue scene with a gaudy English flag, and even a photo of the entire “family” visiting a pumpkin patch. All of it is absurdly fake, so haphazardly edited that Regulus can see James holding back the urge to cry.

Regulus pauses dramatically, “And, of course, here’s our family on our annual Halloween pumpkin patch outing. Thought it’d be a nice tradition.”

James stares, blinking at the madness in front of him. He finally lets out a smile which looks unbearably painful, “This… this is something else, Reg,” he looks up, his expression caught between amusement and horror, “You’re really out to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?”

Regulus leans closer to James, a smile on his face, “Just making sure you see the potential of our future, baby,” he winks, watching the man stare at the album, utterly horrified.

Regulus turns the final page with all the dramatics of unveiling a cherished secret. There, in glorious, cringeworthy detail, is their “family holiday” in Hawaii: he, James and their imaginary kids are decked out in loud, matching Hawaiian shirts, leis strung around their necks, and frozen smiles plastered onto their faces. They’re positioned in front of an impossibly perfect beach sunset, and, to top it all off, a bright, obnoxious banner at the top of the page declares, Our Happy Ever After.

James stares at it, his face frozen in an expression that’s somewhere between polite horror and grim amusement. For a moment, he just blinks, as if hoping the image will somehow shift into something less surreal. But it doesn’t; it remains as bright and painfully optimistic as ever.

Regulus watches him carefully, every inch of his expression carefully arranged into feigned sentimentality, even as he cringes inwardly. He can see the faint tick in James’ jaw, the way his eyes narrow just slightly as he processes the absurdity of it all.

James clears his throat, swallowing hard as he forces a tight, bewildered smile. “Hawaii,” he mutters, more to himself than to Regulus, “Matching shirts… and a banner.”

“Only the best for our family getaway,” Regulus replies, “I wanted to capture the spirit of our… bond, you know? Something unforgettable.”

James nods, visibly struggling. “It’s… definitely unique. I don’t think I’ll… ever forget this”, he lets out a strained chuckle, barely keeping his composure as he closes the album with slow, deliberate care, almost as if he’s afraid it might reopen on its own and unleash another onslaught of bizarre “memories”.

Once the cover is finally shut, he sets the album down on his desk and takes a long, deep breath. His fingers linger on the edge of the album for a moment, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he gathers himself.

“Regulus,” he begins, his tone carefully measured, “I… really don’t know what to say. This is—” he pauses, searching for the right words, his eyes darting toward Regulus with a mixture of disbelief and something almost like awe, “—incredibly… creative.”

Regulus fights the urge to burst into laughter, forcing his lips into a serene smile as he nods, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’m glad you think so,” he says smoothly, “I just wanted to… commemorate what we have.”

James nods, swallowing hard, his voice a bit hoarse as he replies, “Well, you certainly did that,” he glances down at the closed album one last time, an almost haunted look in his eyes, “Thank you, Regulus. Really.”

Suddenly, the door swings open, and in stroll two equally looking men, mid-laugh, each holding a cup of coffee. The one is saying something sarcastic, his voice ringing through the room, “—and that’s why we need an entire second espresso machine, because one just doesn’t cut it when you’re dealing with corporate madness.”

The other man snorts, rolling his eyes, “Right, as if you’re not the reason for most of it—”

But both of them stop dead in their tracks as they spot Regulus standing by James’ desk and the giant pink “love album” with hearts practically spilling off the edges laying on the surface. There’s a beat of silence as the men take in the sight, their eyes widening as they register the absurd scene. 

Regulus, fully aware of their baffled stares, takes a slow, deliberate breath, summoning every ounce of charm he has left. He catches their surprise with a soft, innocent smile, tilting his head slightly as if this was the most natural, comfortable situation in the world, “Oh, hello there,” he says, his voice soft and sweet, “You must be James’ colleagues,” he shoots James an expectant look, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, baby?”

James’ shoulders stiffen, his entire demeanour reading as one giant cringe. He hesitates a moment, looking between Regulus, the album, and the men, before finally muttering, “Of course, sweetheart.”

The men exchange barely restrained, astonished glances at the term of endearment. James lets out a tight, forced smile, turning to them as he gestures toward Regulus, “Fabian, Gideon—this is Regulus. Regulus… these are my associates, Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

Fabian raises his eyebrows, clearly holding back a smirk. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand with a slight, amused nod, “We’ve, uh… heard a lot about you, Regulus.”

Regulus, maintaining his saccharine expression, takes Fabian’s hand with exaggerated politeness, giving it a soft shake before turning to Gideon and doing the same. “Only good things, I hope,” he replies, letting out a soft, innocent laugh as he tilts his head toward James, who looks as though he wants to sink into the floor.

“Of course,” Gideon says smoothly, “Always good things. So, Regulus, what are you up to?”

Regulus gestures to the album on the desk, making sure to add an almost dreamy sigh, “I was just showing James a little project I put together for us. You know, just some future plans.”

Gideon’s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a barely-contained chuckle. “Future plans, huh?” he echoes, giving James a look that’s half sympathetic, half teasing, “Sounds… serious.”

Regulus forces a laugh that he knows sounds painfully fake, internally cringing but doubling down. “Oh, absolutely. I thought it was time we really… defined where we’re headed. You know, commitment and all that,” he tilts his head, giving James a soft, adoring look that he can practically feel James recoiling from.

James clears his throat, offering Fabian and Gideon a strained smile. “Yep, just… making sure everyone’s on the same page,” he says, clearly trying to hold it together, though his eyes are practically pleading with them not to make a scene.

Fabian, still staring at the album with barely hidden amusement, nods slowly. “Well, Regulus,” he says, fighting to keep his tone polite, “it’s nice to see someone putting in the effort around here.”

Gideon nods, grinning openly now. “Yeah, really… thoughtful. You’re setting a high bar.”

Regulus almost rolls his eyes but catches himself, instead giving them both a wide, too-sweet smile, “Thank you. I believe in… going the extra mile.”

James lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like resignation, and Regulus barely contains his smirk. Inside, he’s cringing hard, but he can’t deny the satisfaction of watching James try—and fail—to hide his horror as Fabian and Gideon take in every absurd, glittery detail of the “love album.”

Fabian and Gideon exchange glances, their amusement barely hidden as they look back at Regulus and James, clearly enjoying themselves. “So,” Fabian says, grinning, “have you two picked out a movie for the big date yet? Or still deciding?”

Regulus blinks, a small frown pulling at his brow. “Movie?” he echoes, confused. He glances from Fabian to Gideon, wondering what on earth they’re talking about.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices James frantically making a cutting motion with his hand, subtly shaking his head, his eyes pleading with them to drop it. But it’s too late—Regulus’ curiosity has been piqued. And more than that, he can sense an opportunity.

He puts on his most syrupy smile, turning back to James with an expression of feigned adoration. Then he reaches out to cup James’ face between his hands, his thumbs grazing his cheeks. “Oh, baby,” Regulus coos, his voice dripping with mock affection, “you were going to ask me out to the cinema? That’s why you’ve been trying to call me all afternoon? That’s so sweet.”

James’ face flushes, his eyes darting to Fabian and Gideon, who look like they’re about to burst with laughter. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, desperately trying to play along. “Uh, yeah… I thought it might be… nice,” he stammers, clearly mortified.

Gideon barely contains his grin. “Aw, don’t be shy, James. We’ll make sure to pick a great rom-com for the two of you. Real tearjerker.”

James sighs, giving Gideon a pointed look, “Thanks, really helpful.”

Regulus gives James’ cheeks a gentle pat, releasing him with a delighted smile. “Well, you let me know when you have the details sorted, darling,” he says sweetly, maintaining the overly affectionate tone just to watch James squirm a little longer, “Call me so we can finalise everything. I wouldn’t want to miss such a thoughtful date.”

James clears his throat, giving him a weak smile, “Of course, I’ll… call you. Soon.”

Satisfied, Regulus nods, sparing one last smirk for Fabian and Gideon before turning toward the door. “Gentlemen,” he says with a small, polite nod, “Pleasure meeting you both.”

As soon as Regulus steps out of the office, he lets out a low, mortified groan, feeling the full weight of the scene he’s just made. He cringes inwardly, replaying his own overly saccharine voice, the exaggerated sweetness with which he’d grabbed James’ face and cooed, “Baby, you wanted to take me to the movies? ” It had been insufferable, entirely over the top—even for him. Yet somehow, James hadn’t batted an eye.

Regulus walks down the quiet hallway, frowning as he tries to make sense of it. Movie? James really wants to take him to a movie after all this? After everything Regulus has put him through?

His mind races, pulling up memories of each meticulously crafted disaster he’s set in James’ path over the last few weeks. The restaurant, where he’d purposely ordered the worst foods and then made a jealousy scene. The basketball game, where he’d made a fuss about every minor inconvenience, loudly critiquing the sport just to irritate James. Then the whole cherry Coke thing. And of course, last night’s masterpiece—the disastrous evening at James’ place, complete with calling his cock Minnie Mouse.

A smirk tugs at the corner of Regulus’ mouth, even as he cringes inwardly again. The entire night had been ridiculous, and he’d practically been waiting for James to throw his hands up in surrender, to tell him he couldn’t take it anymore. But that moment had never come. Instead, here James was, still inviting him out, still calling him “sweetheart,” still looking at him with that same unwavering grin.

Any sane person would have walked away by now, Regulus thinks, shaking his head in disbelief. He’s pulled every trick possible, used every tactic Lily had suggested and then some, each one designed to be just obnoxious enough to keep James on edge. And yet, none of it seems to deter him. If anything, James’ interest only seems to grow, like he’s somehow charmed by the very chaos Regulus has thrown at him.

Why isn’t he running? Regulus wonders, his brows furrowing as he steps into the elevator, leaning against the wall as it begins its slow descent. His carefully crafted plan to make himself so obnoxious, so unappealing that James would give up, practically hand him a free out from this whole ridiculous game was backfiring spectacularly. James wasn’t repulsed. He was, somehow, fascinated.

The elevator doors open, and Regulus steps out into the lobby, barely noticing the bustling atmosphere around him. He’s too deep in thought, running over the details in his mind, trying to make sense of this maddeningly persistent interest James seems to have.

What is it about him that’s keeping James around? Regulus had assumed, at first, it was the novelty of the chase, a challenge that James would grow tired of once he realised it was more trouble than it was worth. But now he isn’t so sure. James isn’t giving up—if anything, he’s leaning in harder.

For a moment, Regulus feels a pang of something that almost feels like guilt. If he’s honest with himself, the relentless interest James shows is starting to get to him, too. It’s unsettling and strangely… flattering. It’s a game he thought he could control, but it seems that, somehow, James is playing by his own rules.

Regulus pauses outside the building, letting the cold air settle over him, clearing his mind. There’s a flicker of doubt, something tugging at him, a quiet urge to pull back before things get out of hand. But then he brushes it aside, telling himself that If James Potter wants to play along, then so be it. He’ll keep pushing, keep testing, until he finally figures out what it is that gets for James to finally bolt.

But there’s still a small part of Regulus—a part he’d never admit—can’t help wondering what he’ll do if James never stops.

Regulus sighs as he steps onto the bustling sidewalk. He should be feeling triumphant—halfway through his ten-day deadline, and he’s managed to pull every obnoxious, ridiculous stunt he and Lily had dreamed up. And yet, as he glances up at the city skyline, a weight settles in his chest. The plan was simple: prove to Rita that he could make the guy give up, write the exposé she’d demanded, and be done with it.

But now, here he is, on the fifth day, with no sign that James is losing interest. If anything, he’s even more annoyingly invested, inviting Regulus to movies, playing along with every single ridiculous antic without missing a beat. 

The thought should be irritating. It is irritating. But it also stirs something else, something he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

As he walks, Regulus considers the option that’s been tugging at him since yesterday: just pretend the plan worked. Tell Rita he succeeded, write up some neatly packaged lie about James’ retreat, and move on. No one would question it. He could give himself an out, finish the article early, and save himself the trouble.

And yet… something keeps stopping him. Regulus tells himself it’s professional pride, that he needs to see this plan through to the end, but he knows that isn’t the whole truth. There’s something about James—something maddeningly earnest, something he hadn’t expected—that has him hesitating.

Regulus rolls his eyes at himself, feeling a surge of frustration. The last thing he wants is to start believing in the sincerity behind James’ grins or to think there might be something real in his eyes when he looks at him. He’s always been good at keeping people at a distance, but with James, it feels as though every wall he’s put up just seems to draw him in further.

Maybe it’s the thrill of the game, or maybe, there’s a part of him that’s intrigued by the idea of someone who won’t back down. The idea unsettles him, but he can’t ignore it completely. What would it hurt, he thinks, to keep going just a little longer?

Regulus takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Five more days. That’s all he has left. Five days to finish this, to make sense of whatever strange effect James has on him, and to figure out why, despite everything, he’s not quite ready to let go.

With a final sigh, Regulus makes a silent promise to himself: he’ll keep up the act, he’ll keep pushing, and perhaps he’ll find the answer he’s looking for.

༻༺

James slumps back in his office chair, staring down at the pink “love album” lying open on his desk, still glittering absurdly with heart stickers and that awful title in curly, over-the-top font. Across the room, Fabian and Gideon are doubled over in laughter, each taking turns flipping through the monstrosity with barely concealed glee.

Gideon flips to a page featuring their “family”—complete with a black kitten named Sprinkles and two kids with obvious stock-photo grins. He glances up at James, smirking, “Mate, this is… something special. Did you ever think you’d be planning a life with a cat named Sprinkles?”

James runs a hand through his hair, sighing, “It’s a kitten, Gideon. But no, not quite the life I had in mind.”

Fabian, still stifling laughter, turns to a page with a wildly out-of-proportion Eiffel Tower and the caption Our Engagement Trip to Paris, “Did he really Photoshop the Eiffel Tower behind you two? And is it… crooked?”

Gideon squints, leaning closer, “No, no, it’s definitely leaning to the left. But hey, at least it’s romantic, right? He even chose Paris.”

James groans, rubbing his temples. “Romantic? He’s moving at lightning speed! First, he invites himself over, then starts…” he trails off, wincing, “calling my dick Minnie Mouse, and now this? A scrapbook of children we don’t have, with names he’s actually picked out. ”

Fabian tries, and fails, to keep a straight face. “Did you see the kid’s name? Cassiopea. Amazing. And then, Cepheus,” he adds, snickering, “The perfect touch.”

Gideon, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, sighs, “But seriously, James—what’s going on with him? You think he’s… trying to scare you off?”

James frowns, considering it, “Honestly? I don’t know what to think anymore. I mean, one minute he’s playing cat and mouse with me, the next he’s practically daring me to be horrified. It’s like he’s running on two different agendas.”

Fabian grins, flipping to a page with a horribly edited image of Regulus and James in front of a picket-fenced house, “So, you’re telling me you don’t want this charming little house with him? I mean, just look at how badly he Photoshopped it.”

James laughs despite himself. “Look, I don’t know what his deal is, but he’s got this absurd timeline in his head. First, he resists to… get physical, saying he wants me to respect him,” he mutters, unable to resist a cringe, “but then tries to undress me himself and says ridiculous things about my dick, and now he’s made an entire album of memories we don’t even have.”

Gideon shakes his head, chuckling, “I’ll give him this—he’s got guts. And commitment to the bit. I mean, he even did matching sweaters in this fake Christmas photo.”

James sighs again, closing the album and giving it a defeated look, “Whatever his plan is, it’s honestly impressive. But I just… can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s actually trying to drive me up the wall for some mysterious reason.”

Fabian grins, “Well, one thing’s clear. If he’s trying to make you lose it, he’s doing a damn good job,” he flips through a few more pages, biting back laughter as he gestures to the album’s cover, complete with glittery heart stickers and the blinding pink background, “Look, mate, if you’re serious about landing that Horcrux contract, you’ve got to stick with this. This album—” he points to a particularly absurd family photo with fake, grinning kids, “—this is just the beginning. If you want that contract, you’re gonna have to be into this. All in, you get me?”

Gideon nods, his face dead serious despite the amusement still glinting in his eyes, “Exactly. When you call him tonight, and you two actually make it to the cinema, I want you gushing about this album. Like, I’m talking full Disney-princess-who-finally-found-her-prince level of enthusiasm.”

James raises an eyebrow, groaning, “You mean, I’ve got to act like this whole… pink, glittery monstrosity of fake memories and kids is the best gift I’ve ever received?”

Fabian grins, clapping James on the shoulder, “Absolutely. You need to make him feel like this was the most thoughtful, romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. And when you’re at the movies, bring it up—tell him you’ve been thinking about little Cassiopeia, Cepheus and Sprinkles all day, that it’s got you picturing your future together.”

James throws his head back, groaning, “You two are going to be the end of me.”

Gideon chuckles, his tone playful but pointed, “Not if Regulus doesn’t get there first. Come on, James, if you survive this… Minerva will be begging you to take the contract. She’ll see you as the kind of guy who can handle anything.”

Fabian smirks, flipping the album shut with a flourish, “Besides, it’s only a matter of time before he has you in another photoshopped picture with matching pyjamas. Better get used to it.”

James takes a deep breath, staring down at the album one last time, as if steeling himself. “Alright,” he says finally, determination in his eyes, “If this is what it takes, I’ll handle it. I’ll act like this album is a masterpiece—and I’ll be so into our ‘future family’ that he’ll have no idea what hit him.”

Fabian and Gideon nod enthusiastically and carry on talking, joking about how James might as well start picking out wedding venues if he’s going to keep this up, but their voices fade into the background as James’ thoughts drift, fixating on Regulus and the strange pattern that’s emerged between them.

It’s a maddening cycle—first, Regulus keeps him at arm’s length, all distance and cool glances. Just when James starts thinking maybe he’s cracked the code, that maybe he’s starting to see past those walls, Regulus reels him back in with a warmth that feels real, almost intimate. Like last night, sitting close, exchanging glances that lingered just a bit longer than necessary. But then, just as quickly, Regulus pulls back again with some ridiculous shit, as if he’s trying to keep James hooked without letting him get too close.

What’s his game? James wonders, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. It’s as if Regulus is playing by rules only he knows, constantly keeping him guessing, never letting him fully understand what’s going on behind those sharp, blue eyes. The part of James that wants this contract keeps telling him to ignore it, to stay focused, to let Regulus lead him through whatever bizarre script he’s crafted. 

But it’s not the contract that flashes through his mind when he thinks of Regulus now. Instead, it’s the way he looked that first night, sitting across from James at his favourite Indian restaurant. The candlelight had cast a soft glow over his face, and James remembers thinking then, almost immediately, how impossibly beautiful Regulus was, how he carried himself with a quiet confidence that was magnetic. And then later, back at his place, Regulus had shown flashes of vulnerability, just enough to make James feel like he’d glimpsed something real, something underneath all the walls and sarcasm.

Now, though, that Regulus seems like a distant memory, replaced by this version who keeps him constantly on edge, drawing him close just to push him away. James can’t tell if it’s all part of some master plan or if there’s something more to it. But, much as he tries to deny it, he finds himself wondering if he’s been pulled into the game in ways he never intended.

“Mate,” Fabian’s voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present, “You look like you’re a million miles away. Thinking about Venice and Sprinkles already?”

James forces a laugh, glancing toward the door where Regulus left just moments ago. The fake family albums, the ridiculous dates, the entire absurd charade—they should all be just a series of tasks, little moments to push him closer to closing the deal. And yet, each one feels like something more, leaving him more confused each time.

He shakes off his thoughts, giving his friends a quick grin. “Yeah, just… trying to wrap my head around it all,” James says, his tone light.

Gideon smirks, “Better get used to it. Regulus is definitely going to keep you guessing.”

James nods absently, his mind still running in circles as he repeats to himself that this is just business, just another strategy. 

But even as he thinks it, he knows there’s a strong possibility he could be lying.

Chapter Text

The late April evening air is cool, a light breeze winding through the London streets as they walk. It’s that crisp, mid-spring chill—enough to be refreshing, though the city already holds onto a hint of summer. The sidewalks are damp from a recent drizzle, and the streetlights cast a warm glow over everything, illuminating the cobblestone underfoot and the occasional puddle that reflects the deepening sky. 

James can feel himself coming alive in the city’s pulse, the steady hum of traffic, the echo of laughter from passing groups, the clink of glasses from nearby pubs. He should be focused on where they’re going, on his goals tonight, but his gaze keeps wandering to Regulus beside him.

Regulus looks effortlessly striking, his outfit somehow managing to both blend with and stand out against the London backdrop. He’s wearing a cream cashmere turtleneck that wraps around his neck, softening the sharp lines of his face, and black leather shorts that are just—well, captivating. Dark nylon tights stretch down his legs, leading to perfectly polished loafers, and James’ gaze can’t help but linger on the slender, graceful stretch of his calves and ankles. It’s ridiculous, really, how something as simple as walking beside Regulus is utterly distracting.

They pass under the soft glow of street lamps, and James glances again—though at this point he’s lost count of how many times. He knows he should focus on the Horcrux Diamond contract, on charming Regulus just enough to seal the deal. But it’s hard to pretend, even to himself, that this isn’t something more. Something about the elegance of Regulus’ stride, the confident set of his shoulders, the way his knee peeks out from beneath the hem of his shorts, almost glowing in the streetlight, has James struggling to keep his thoughts in check.

For the hundredth—or maybe the three-hundredth—time, he forces himself to look away, to bring himself back to the present.

As they walk, Regulus glances over, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“Honestly, I half-expected you to pick me up on that bike of yours,” he says, hands shoved into his pockets.

James grins. “Thought about it,” he admits, “but I figured a walk would be nice before the movie. We’ve got about forty minutes until it starts—just enough time to get there, grab tickets, maybe something to drink.”

Regulus gives a small nod, his gaze drifting from James to the streets around them. His hands are still buried in his pockets, and James notices a slight shiver pass over him, barely perceptible but there. The light breeze that’s growing colder with the setting sun seems to nip at the edges of his turtleneck, and Regulus shifts, shoulders curling inward slightly.

It’s then that James remembers Fabian and Gideon’s advice—the “classic move.” He clears his throat, trying to sound casual, “You cold?”

Regulus shakes his head, though his eyes wander off to a small row of kiosks, flickering with lights, where magazine stands and coffee shops line the street, mingling the scent of fresh pastries and espresso into the night air. For a moment, he looks entirely lost in his own thoughts, half-distracted by the little scene of London evening life.

But James doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he shrugs off his leather jacket, and before Regulus can react, he drapes it over his shoulders. He feels Regulus go still, then watches as he turns, blinking in surprise at the unexpected weight and warmth of the jacket settling around him. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, the sounds of the busy street seem to fade.

“Figured it wouldn’t hurt,” James says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Regulus holds his gaze for a moment, the surprise in his eyes fading into something unreadable before he looks away, pulling the jacket a bit closer around him. The quiet thanks he murmurs is nearly lost in the breeze, but James catches it, feeling a swell of warmth in his chest as they continue down the street together.

As they continue walking, a shop catches James’ eye—a familiar storefront painted in bright, cheerful colors, with a large sign that reads “Honeydukes.” Through the window, rows of candies and chocolates line the shelves, all wrapped in glossy paper that sparkles in the warm glow of the lights. He feels an unbidden smile tugging at his lips, his heart lifting with a sense of nostalgia.

“Oh, I love that place,” James says, almost to himself, his voice carrying a touch of enthusiasm he hadn’t meant to let slip out.

Regulus glances at him with a faintly curious expression. 

“You like Honeydukes?” he asks, his tone careful, though there’s an edge of surprise there.

James nods, his smile growing a little sheepish. “Yeah, I used to come here all the time. Can’t resist their sweets,” he pauses, glancing back at the display, as if just looking at it could bring back the taste of the treats he loves, “They’ve got these amazing butter sweets that are pretty much perfect.”

Regulus listens, his gaze softening as he watches James talk about something so simple yet clearly meaningful. 

“So… butter sweets are the favorite, then?” he prompts, his voice low, as if hesitant to ask.

“Well,” James says, scratching the back of his neck, “they’re great, but if I had to pick an all-time favorite…” he hesitates, the memory of his absolute favorite treat making his smile widen, “It would have to be—”

“Chocolate frogs,” they both say at the exact same time.

James stops, surprised, his eyes widening as he glances over at Regulus. He lets out a small, amused laugh, his eyebrows shooting up as he realises they’ve both confessed the same guilty pleasure. 

“You too?” he asks, letting the surprise and warmth leak into his tone.

Regulus smirks, though there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes. 

“Yeah. The chocolate’s good, but it’s… I don’t know, there’s something about them,” he shrugs, his gaze slipping back to the display in the Honeydukes window, “Guess it’s that feeling you get, like you’re a kid again.”

James chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. I mean, no matter how old you get, you just can’t beat them. They’re just…” he searches for the right words, his grin widening as he looks back at Regulus, “They’re splendid.”

Regulus’ eyes linger on him for a moment, and there’s an understanding between them that James can’t quite put into words—a shared memory of something simple but lasting, a common ground neither of them had known they shared.

James laughs, his eyes shining with the memory as he gestures to the Honeydukes storefront. “When I was a kid, I used to beg my parents to bring me here. They’d cave every time, and I’d leave with bags full of sweets. I must’ve tried everything in this place at least once,” he chuckles, almost sheepishly, “It was my go-to bribe. I’m pretty sure my mum could convince me to do just about anything if it meant a trip to Honeydukes.”

Regulus’ expression softens, his gaze drifting to the shop window. “I didn’t come here much as a kid. Just a few times, really,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice taking on a quieter, almost wistful tone, “And I’d only ever get the same thing.”

James catches the shift in his voice—a softness, a hint of something almost nostalgic but tinged with sadness. It’s unlike the Regulus he’s used to, the one who carries himself with such careful composure. This moment feels more real somehow, more honest, and it stirs something in him he can’t ignore.

Without thinking, James finds himself asking, “Want to go in?”

Regulus’ eyes widen slightly, and he immediately shakes his head, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. 

“No, no, that’s alright,” he says quickly, looking away, as if the idea makes him uneasy.

But James doesn’t let it go so easily. He catches Regulus’ eye, a playful determination settling in. 

“Come on,” he insists, voice warm but persuasive, “Just for a few minutes. You can’t tell me you don’t want another chocolate frog.”

Regulus hesitates, glancing between James and the shop, clearly torn. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—curiosity, maybe even a bit of longing—that James notices, and he presses just a little further.

“Besides,” he adds with a grin, “if we’re going to the movies, we need proper snacks. And I don’t know about you, but I think I’d rather have a chocolate frog than stale popcorn.”

Regulus lets out a soft, almost defeated sigh, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Fine,” he says, barely above a murmur, “just for a minute.”

James’ grin widens as he gently steers him toward the door, feeling a surprising rush of excitement at the prospect of sharing even this small, simple thing with Regulus.

They step inside Honeydukes, and the warmth of the shop wraps around them instantly, thick with the sweet, comforting scent of chocolate and caramel. The shop is vibrant and cheerful, every shelf lined with colorful candies and chocolates arranged in artful, tempting displays. Glass jars filled with sugared bonbons and shimmering gumdrops catch the light from the hanging bulbs overhead. Boxes of chocolates, wrapped in delicate foil, are stacked like tiny, edible gifts, and rows of intricately decorated truffles sit under a glass counter, each looking almost too perfect to eat.

James pauses, soaking in the familiar sights and smells, feeling a rush of nostalgia. It’s as if he’s stepped back in time to those childhood days, when he’d stare wide-eyed at the shelves, debating which sweets to try first.

Regulus, meanwhile, wanders between the shelves with a quiet curiosity, his steps slow, almost hesitant. He moves from one display to the next, his gaze darting over the candies with a hint of uncertainty, like he’s unused to indulging himself this way. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks, perhaps from the warmth of the shop or the unexpected nature of the moment, and James feels a sudden fondness as he watches him.

It’s remarkable, really. Just a few hours ago, this same Regulus had waltzed into his office wielding that absurd love album, a pink monstrosity of glitter and hearts. And now here he is, quiet and unassuming, with James’ leather jacket draped over his shoulders. The jacket is slightly too large on him, slipping just a little as he moves, and it only makes him seem more endearing. His cheeks, flushed pink, stand out against the soft cream of his turtleneck, the color contrasting so beautifully that James finds it hard to look away.

There’s something calming about this Regulus, something gentle that James hadn’t anticipated. He finds himself smiling without meaning to, feeling that familiar curiosity rising up once more—wondering how many layers there are to this enigmatic man.

Regulus pauses in front of a display of lollipops, his expression almost shy as he picks one up, examining it carefully before setting it back down. He glances over his shoulder, catching James watching him, and gives a small, self-conscious smile, one that James can’t help but return. There’s a softness here, a side of Regulus that feels rare and precious, and for the first time, James thinks he’s beginning to understand why he’s so drawn to him.

He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when Regulus speaks up, his voice low, “This place really hasn’t changed, has it?”

James blinks, snapping out of his reverie, and nods, a small, fond smile on his lips, “Not a bit.”

He starts drifting along the shelves, his gaze flickering over jars of bonbons, neat stacks of fudge, and glass bowls filled with truffles. Then he stops dead in his tracks, spotting a familiar box on the shelf: Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. James picks up a box, grinning as he remembers childhood afternoons spent with his friends, daring each other to try the worst flavors.

“Oh, man,” he laughs, holding up the box for Regulus to see, “I used to play this ridiculous game with these. My friends and I would sit around for hours, trying the worst flavors just to see who’d give up first.”

Regulus looks at the box in James’ hand, his expression curious but slightly wary. 

“Really?” he asks, eyebrow raised, and his tone is tinged with something that almost sounds like scepticism, “I’ve… actually never tried them.”

James’ jaw drops, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he stares at Regulus in disbelief. 

“Seriously?” he says, barely able to hide his shock, “Never?”

Regulus shrugs, looking back at the row of sweets with an almost indifferent air, “My parents only let me get one sweet when I came here, and I always went with chocolate frogs. Or maybe a lollipop if I was feeling adventurous.”

James shakes his head, still staring at him as if he’s encountered some rare, unheard-of species. 

“Only one sweet?” he repeats, as if the concept is beyond comprehension.

Regulus nods, his expression unfazed. “One sweet. It was a rule,” his voice is calm, but James catches that faint hint of something beneath the surface—maybe a touch of disappointment or the lingering weight of old restrictions.

Without another word, James squeezes the box of Bertie Bott’s and shakes it in front of Regulus’ face. 

“No debate. We’re getting these,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips, “You’re not leaving Honeydukes without trying them.”

Regulus’ eyes flick down to the box, then back up at James, a glimmer of amusement breaking through his usual calm, “You’re really that determined?”

“Absolutely,” James replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Consider it a crucial part of the Honeydukes experience. You’ve missed out long enough.”

Regulus chuckles and picks up two chocolate frogs from the display, his fingers curling gently around the small boxes. He stands there, turning them over in his hands thoughtfully, and James, standing close beside him, can’t help but watch, captivated by the softness in his movements.

“Why only two?” James asks, his voice barely more than a murmur as he takes in the sight of Regulus with the chocolates in his hands.

Regulus glances up at him, his gaze surprisingly open, unguarded in a way James hasn’t seen before. He gives a faint smile, his eyes warm. 

“One for you,” he says softly, “and one for me.”

James feels something shift inside him, a delicate breaking that’s almost startling in its quiet intensity. There’s something so sincere in the way Regulus says it, an unassuming kindness, this simple thoughtfulness that’s so genuine, so purely… sweet.  

In that moment, standing in Honeydukes under the warm lights, surrounded by shelves of sours and chocolate, James realises he’s seeing Regulus in a way he hasn’t before. It’s as if all the layers have been peeled back, revealing a side that’s untouched by his usual defenses or guarded sarcasm. There’s a childlike simplicity to this gesture, an openness that seems so rare for him.

James has only known him for a few days, but those days have been filled with sharp edges—Regulus either keeping him at arm’s length with that icy demeanor or throwing him off balance with impulsive, chaotic gestures like the love album from earlier. But now, here in this little sweet shop, he’s calm and gentle, almost tender. Real. And that, somehow, makes him more captivating than anything else.

James knows he shouldn’t be thinking this way. He has a purpose here, a goal he’s supposed to be working toward. Regulus is just a piece in the game, a stepping stone to the contract he’s after. But right now, in this quiet moment between them, he can’t bring himself to care. All he can think about is how impossibly charming Regulus looks, how much he wants to hold onto this version of him a little longer.

Acting before he can stop himself, James steps closer, his hand reaching up to gently touch Regulus’ cheek. Regulus blinks, surprised, and before either of them can second-guess it, James tilts his face up, his fingers brushing along the curve of his jaw as he leans in. And then, without another word, he closes the distance between them, pressing his lips softly to Regulus’.

The kiss is delicate but ignites something electric, a spark that quickly spreads like warmth from his chest outward. Regulus’ lips are warm, tasting faintly sweet, and James swears he can feel his heart racing through every subtle movement. He pulls Regulus just a fraction closer, deepening the kiss as his fingers slide gently along his jaw, savoring the gentleness of his skin.

He’s completely lost in the moment, in the quiet intimacy of it, feeling as if the world around them has faded to nothing. There’s no plan, no strategy, no pretense—just Regulus, his scent, his warmth, the softness of his lips. For a brief, reckless moment, James thinks he could stay like this forever.

“James,” Regulus breathes, the words brushing against his lips, and James feels the faint curve of a smile in his mouth, “James, people are going to start staring.”

“Don’t care,” James replies, his voice low and unsteady, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. There’s a warmth there he hadn’t meant to reveal, but right now, he can’t find it in himself to hide. Something about Regulus—about the way he’s looking at him, the quiet smile James can feel against his lips—has him feeling entirely unmoored, like he’s surrendering to something he doesn’t fully understand but can’t resist.

What is happening to him? Why does his voice sound like that? Why is his heart pounding as if he’s never done this before?

“Come on, James,” Regulus murmurs, turning his head, and—God—he’s laughing. Not the sharp, polished laugh James has heard before, but a softer one, warm and unguarded, slipping out from deep in his chest. It’s genuine, raw, and it sounds nothing like anything James has heard from him until now. It’s breathtaking.

As Regulus turns, James lets his lips brush against his cheek, unable to stop himself from leaving one last kiss there, feeling his skin against his mouth. Before he can think better of it, he dips down, pressing a quick, light kiss to Regulus’ jaw, savoring just a moment longer before finally pulling away.

He takes in the sight of Regulus, cheeks flushed a deep pink, his expression almost shy but softened by that quiet laughter. He looks… enchanting, really, with James’ jacket still draped around him, his lips curved in that secretive smile. And it’s too much, so much that James has to force himself to look away, grounding himself with a steady breath as he feels his own heart racing.

It takes everything in him not to turn back, not to reach for him again. But he clenches his fists, grounding himself, determined not to lose any more of his composure—though he already feels as though he’s left most of it behind.

James watches as Regulus bites the inside of his cheek, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face as he turns away, stepping a few paces toward a nearby shelf. He reaches out, grabbing a random package of something without even looking, clearly still flustered from the kiss. 

“I… want this,” he mumbles, barely glancing at what he’s holding, as if he’s trying to cover up his nerves with distraction.

James follows his gaze down to the package and raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “That’s… dog treats.”

Regulus freezes for a moment, his brow arching as he looks down, realising what he’s picked up. Instead of setting it back, though, he just shrugs, a trace of that smirk returning. “Perfect. My brother will love it.”

James can’t help it—he bursts into laughter, the sound escaping before he can stop himself. 

“Yeah, I remember you mentioning you don’t exactly hold him in the highest regard,” he teases, eyes bright with amusement.

“I like his boyfriend more,” Regulus smirks, rolling his eyes as he sets the dog treats back on the shelf. 

“Right,” James replies, grinning, “that, I remember too.” He holds Regulus’ gaze a moment longer than necessary, his smile lingering, unable to shake the warmth that’s settled between them.

As Regulus turns, James catches something unexpected in his expression—a flicker of warmth, a softness he’s only beginning to recognize. Then Regulus squeezes the chocolate frogs in his hand, as if steeling himself, and moves toward the counter. James watches, rooted to the spot, his gaze following the line of Regulus’ shoulders, the quiet confidence in his stride.

At the counter, Regulus places the chocolate frogs down, glancing up at the cashier with a faint smile. 

“Hello,” he says, voice smooth and perfectly polite, before glancing back over his shoulder at James, a playful glint in his eye, “He’ll be paying.”

With that, he winks, just once, then slips out the door, leaving behind only the soft chime of the bell overhead.

James stands there, watching him go, feeling a completely ridiculous grin spread across his face. Shit, this guy—

“Sir?” the cashier says, pulling him back into reality, “Just the two chocolate frogs?”

James blinks, momentarily disoriented, before he remembers the Bertie Bott’s. 

“Oh, right—no, and these,” he says, placing the box on the counter with a quick nod.

As James stands at the counter, he can’t shake the image of Regulus walking away, that playful wink thrown over his shoulder, the hint of warmth lingering in his expression. It shouldn’t feel like anything more than a joke—just another twist in this unpredictable game Regulus seems to enjoy playing. But it does feel like more. It feels unsettlingly real, leaving James with a quiet, aching thrill that he can’t explain and, worse, can’t ignore.

He stares down at the countertop, his fingers pressing into the polished wood, and lets out a slow, uneven breath. Every carefully laid-out plan in his mind is unraveling thread by thread, replaced by one inconvenient thought after another—Regulus’ smirk as he picked up the chocolate frogs, the quiet laughter that had slipped past his defenses, and, most of all, that softness in his eyes when he’d said, “One for you and one for me.” There was something so unguarded in that moment, so genuine, that James can’t help but replay it over and over, feeling his heart lurch every time.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t part of the plan. James was supposed to stay detached, focused, just close enough to Regulus to secure the Horcrux contract. But here he is, standing in the middle of Honeydukes, helplessly replaying every smile, every touch, every tiny detail about him. 

It’s ridiculous. James barely knows Regulus, but he feels like he’s seeing layers he hadn’t realised were there—depths of kindness, vulnerability, and tenderness beneath that guarded exterior.

James clenches his jaw, a part of him desperate to dismiss it all as nothing more than a fleeting attraction, something he can brush off and forget. But as much as he tries to shake it, there’s a part of him that can’t help wondering if maybe—just maybe—Regulus is starting to mean something to him. And that thought is dangerous, thrilling, and completely against every rule he’d set for himself.

The cashier’s voice pulls him back. 

“Sir? That’ll be all?”

James blinks, jolted out of his reverie, and manages a nod. “Yeah, yes, that’s all,” he says, his voice a little rougher than he’d like. 

He pays quickly, grabbing the bag with the sweets, then takes one last steadying breath, determined to clear his mind.

But as he steps outside, the thought still lingers, an undercurrent James can’t shake. One thing is certain: Fabian and Gideon absolutely cannot find out about the amount of completely unprofessional, unnecessary thoughts he’s had tonight.

༻༺

Regulus steps out into the cool evening air, the crispness biting against his skin as he closes the door behind. He moves automatically, slipping to the side and pressing his back against the rough brick wall beside the shop, his breath coming faster than he’d like. He shuts his eyes, feeling the cool surface against his spine, grounding him as he struggles to push down the whirlwind of thoughts inside.

No, no, no. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. It’s not supposed to be like this.

Regulus takes a deep, unsteady breath, the cold air filling his lungs, but it doesn’t help to quiet the racing in his chest. He tries to focus on that familiar edge of frustration, the stubborn insistence that he should feel nothing, that he can control this. But every time he tries to grasp that feeling, his mind betrays him, pulling Regulus right back to the warmth of James’ lips—the way his touch felt so gentle, so natural, as if he’d done it a hundred times before in a million other universes.

This isn’t what Regulus should be feeling. He’s supposed to keep James at a distance, keep up that edge of sarcasm, be as insufferable as possible—just like Lily and Mary have reminded him time and time again. He’s supposed to protect himself, to keep every interaction laced with wit and annoyance, to make sure that James never gets close.

But James isn’t supposed to be like this either. He’s supposed to be arrogant, single-minded, only out for himself. That’s the version Regulus had expected, the version he’d been ready to reject. But here’s James instead, with that soft, earnest smile, looking at him with a warmth that’s impossibly genuine, a kindness that Regulus hadn’t been prepared for. 

He’s not supposed to be this gentle, this attentive. He’s not supposed to make Regulus feel like he’s someone worth knowing, worth looking at the way James had in that quiet, unguarded moment.

Regulus presses his fists against the rough wall behind him, eyes still shut tight as if he can block out the memory. But it’s too late—he can still feel the faint brush of James’ fingertips, the warmth lingering on his skin, and no matter how hard he tries to dismiss it, that sensation is burned into his mind.

It really had taken only one look at James, coming to Regulus’ house this evening—standing there in the hallway, flushed from the cold, his hair tousled from the breeze, wearing that leather jacket with such effortless confidence—to make Regulus crumble. In that instant, he didn’t want to be irritating, didn’t want to play any games. All he’d wanted was… James’ company. Just him. Nothing contrived, nothing forced.

It’s pathetic, really. Regulus knows he should have held his ground, kept up the walls he’d so carefully built. But as soon as James smiled at him, that easy, genuine smile that softened every edge, he felt his own determination slip. He wanted, just for once, to let himself enjoy it, to feel what it was like to be beside James without all the pretenses.

Regulus leans his head back, thumping it lightly against the wall in frustration. His lips press together, and he feels his knee start to bounce, a nervous habit he can’t quite control.

Get a grip, he tells himself, clenching his fists as he draws in a steadying breath. He’d come into this with a plan, a clear purpose—to write an article, to carry out a clever scheme: How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. This was supposed to be a game, a lighthearted prank, nothing more. He’d been prepared to irritate James, to drive him up the wall with all the little tricks Regulus perfected for just this purpose.

He thinks of all the articles he dreams of writing—pieces on politics, on social issues, on real, important events. He’s tired of fluff pieces, tired of assignments on pilates classes, cocktail recipes, and party trends. Regulus wants his work to matter, to reflect something significant, something that people might actually need. And this story, this ridiculous experiment, is just a means to get him there. He has to remember that.

With a long exhale, Regulus resolves to get back on track. He can’t afford to let himself be charmed by James, or to enjoy their time together. He needs to go back to the plan, to the ridiculous antics, to playing the fool—because that’s what’s going to get the job done. And if Regulus is going to pull this off, he has to be completely unbearable.

Right, he thinks. The second they get to the cinema, he’ll ramp it up. He’ll be impossible, childish, exactly the kind of person anyone would want to walk away from. It’s time to lose James Potter, and fast, before this thing spirals any further out of control.

Regulus steels himself, breathing in the cool evening air as he tries to bring his thoughts back into focus. He has to pull it together. He has a job to do, and he can’t afford to lose himself now, not when his career depends on it. This story is a stepping stone, and he needs to play his role exactly as planned. This was never supposed to be about James; it was about moving forward, about proving he could take on something meaningful.

Regulus hears the bell over the door chime, and he straightens instinctively, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He glances up to see James stepping out, holding the small paper bag with their sweets. The light from the shop spills across James’ figure, illuminating the easy confidence in his stride, the ever-messy tumble of his hair, and the soft, crooked grin playing on his lips.

It takes everything in Regulus not to roll his eyes—or worse, let himself feel the warmth threatening to creep back into his chest. Focus, he reminds himself sharply. James Potter is not supposed to be charming. He’s supposed to be a target.

“You got them?” Regulus asks, trying to sound nonchalant as James steps closer. He flicks his gaze briefly toward the bag, then away again, willing himself to focus on anything but the way James looks entirely too pleased with himself for buying a couple of sweets.

James tilts the bag slightly, as if to show it off. “Of course. Two chocolate frogs, just like you wanted. And the Bertie Bott’s,” he says, his voice light, almost teasing.

Regulus huffs softly, leaning back against the wall. “You didn’t have to buy the beans,” he says, his tone as casual as he can manage, though he avoids meeting James’ eyes. Instead, he keeps his gaze on the sidewalk, on the small flicker of light reflecting off a puddle nearby.

“Yes, I did,” James says, shrugging as if it’s obvious, “I wasn’t about to let you miss out on one of the best parts of Honeydukes.”

Regulus resists the urge to smile, though the corner of his mouth threatens to twitch upward. Instead, he keeps his voice flat, “You’re making this a whole thing.”

“Maybe I am,” James replies easily, his grin widening as he leans just slightly closer, eyes glinting with amusement, “But trust me, you’ll thank me later when we’re arguing over whether you actually got a dirt-flavored one.”

The ease in James’ voice, the casual way he jokes as if this is all perfectly normal, sends a faint ripple of warmth through Regulus’ chest. And he hates it. No, no, no, he tells himself again, trying to push it down. He needs to get back in control, to get back into his role before James Potter completely derails him.

Regulus straightens, tilting his head with a faint smirk. “Let’s just get to the cinema,” he says, his voice carrying just enough edge to remind himself of the game he’s supposed to be playing. “You can try to force me into your little jelly games once we’re inside.”

James’ laugh is soft, and for a brief, disarming moment, Regulus almost forgets why he’s supposed to not care about it.

They walk together through the cool London streets, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows as the city hums quietly around them. For a while, there’s an easy silence between them, broken only by the occasional sound of passing cars and the rhythmic click of Regulus’ loafers on the pavement.

But beside him, James keeps shifting, his steps uneven, his hands fiddling with the paper bag. It’s a subtle energy at first, but soon James is practically bouncing with every other step, like a kid barely containing his excitement. Regulus catches the motion out of the corner of his eye, and his lips press into a thin line as he sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, what is it?” he finally asks, glancing sideways at James, his voice carrying a note of exasperation. But it’s not real irritation—not entirely. If anything, it’s harder and harder for Regulus to suppress the faint smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. Damn it. He’s really too cute when he’s like this.

James grins, a little sheepishly, and holds up the bag. “What if we try the Bertie Bott’s now? You know, while we walk?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “You really can’t wait ten more minutes?”

James shrugs, his grin widening. “Where’s the fun in that? Come on, you’ve never tried them before, right? Might as well start now.”

Regulus huffs, pretending to be annoyed, but something about the boyish eagerness in James’ face is making it hard to hold onto his usual aloofness. 

“Fine,” he says, his tone reluctant but his smirk betraying him. 

James practically vibrates, already digging into the bag. He pulls out the little box of Bertie Bott’s and opens it with the kind of care that makes Regulus sure he’s done this countless times before. James tips the box, letting a few beans tumble into his palm, and holds it out to Regulus.

“Pick one,” James says, grinning like this is the most exciting thing that’s happened all evening.

Regulus stares at the assortment of colorful jellybeans in James’ hand, then back up at James, his smirk returning. “If this ends with me eating something disgusting, I’m making you regret it.”

James laughs, tilting his head toward him. “That’s the whole point. Now come on, live a little.”

Regulus hesitates for a moment, then rolls his eyes again for effect and plucks a pale green bean from James’ palm. He holds it between his fingers, studying it as if it might bite him. “If this tastes like grass, I’m leaving,” he mutters.

James snorts, his grin somehow managing to grow wider. “Only one way to find out.”

Regulus narrows his eyes at James, but the challenge in his smile is impossible to ignore. With a resigned sigh, he tosses the pale green bean into his mouth. For a second, the flavor doesn’t register, and then—his lips purse, and his face contorts just slightly.

“Grass,” he says flatly, his voice deadpan.

James bursts into laughter, throwing his head back as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “No way you actually got it on the first try,” He’s practically beaming, and his laughter is so infectious that Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much,” Regulus mutters, though there’s no real heat in his tone. He flicks a glare at James, but it only makes James laugh harder, clutching the little box of jellybeans like it’s the greatest treasure on earth.

“Alright, my turn,” James says, still grinning as he pops a random bean into his own mouth. He pauses, his expression shifting from excitement to wary confusion, and then grimaces dramatically. “Oh, I got—” He cuts himself off, scrunching his nose. “Soap. That’s definitely soap.”

Regulus can’t help it; the corner of his mouth twitches. “Good,” he says, the faintest trace of a smirk appearing. “That feels deserved.”

James holds up the box with mock seriousness. “We’re not stopping now. You’re up again. I refuse to suffer alone.”

Regulus rolls his eyes but takes another bean from the box—this one orange with little flecks of red. “If this is spicy, you’re carrying me to the cinema,” he warns.

The moment he bites down, his face twists again, this time into something like disbelief. 

“Cinnamon,” he says after a second, glaring at James as if it’s his fault. “Why is it so strong? That’s disgusting.”

James is laughing again, his grin so wide it makes Regulus feel both irritated and, annoyingly, amused. 

“Oh, come on,” James teases, bumping his shoulder lightly against Regulus’ as they walk. “Cinnamon’s not bad. You’re just picky.”

“I’m discerning,” Regulus corrects, popping the last bit of cinnamon bean into his mouth with a grimace, as if to prove a point.

“Sure you are,” James replies, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. He plucks another bean from the box, studies it for a second, and then tosses it into his mouth without hesitation. He chews, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then, his eyes widen.

“Oh, bugger,” he chokes out, half-laughing, half-coughing. “That’s vomit.”

Regulus stops in his tracks, raising an eyebrow as James leans forward, hands on his knees, trying to recover. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says simply, though there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

James looks up at him, still grinning despite his clear suffering. 

“Because it’s fun,” he says, his voice hoarse. Then, straightening up, he holds the box out to Regulus with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Your turn.”

Regulus stares at the box, then back at James, narrowing his eyes. “This feels like entrapment.”

“It’s tradition,” James counters.

Regulus sighs, shaking his head as he reaches for another bean. “You’re so stupid.” But despite his words, he takes the bean and tosses it into his mouth, determined to outlast him.

Regulus chews the jellybean slowly, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a distinct grimace flashes across his face, and he stops mid-chew. He presses his lips together tightly, trying not to react as the flavor hits him fully.

“Pepper,” he manages after a long pause, his voice clipped. “Who in their right mind makes a sweet taste like pepper?”

James snorts, his laugh breaking free again as he watches Regulus struggle. 

“Pfft, that’s not even the worst of it,” he says, grinning. “Wait until you get something like… I don’t know, rotten egg.”

“Fantastic,” Regulus deadpans, fixing James with an unimpressed glare. Then, without hesitation, he plucks the half-chewed jellybean out of his mouth and shoves it directly into James’ hand. “Here. You’re clearly enjoying this more than I am.”

James stares down at the offending jellybean now sitting wet and sticky in his palm, his grin faltering for just a second before he bursts out laughing again. 

“Thank you,” he says with mild disgust all over his face, though he makes no effort to get rid of it yet.

Regulus brushes his hands on the soft inside of James’ jacket still hanging off his shoulders, as if to cleanse himself of the experience, and arches an eyebrow. “You know this game is pointless, right? There’s no prize. It’s completely meaningless.”

James chuckles, shifting the half-eaten bean to a tissue from the bag. “That’s the fun of it,” he counters. “Sometimes you don’t need a prize. Just the chaos is enough.”

Regulus lets out a soft huff, his exasperation warring with amusement. “Spoken like someone who’s too easily entertained.”

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t know how to let go,” James shoots back, though his tone is playful. He shakes the box in his hand again, as if to tempt Regulus into another round.

But Regulus is already walking ahead, putting deliberate distance between them. 

“Let’s just get to the cinema,” he calls over his shoulder. “And keep your disgusting beans to yourself.”

James jogs a few steps to catch up. “Alright,” he says, holding the box up like a challenge, his grin practically devilish now. “How about this? If I get a rotten egg, you have to kiss me.”

Regulus stops mid-step, turning his head to give James a flat, incredulous look. “I’m not kissing you if your mouth tastes like rotten egg.”

James shrugs, popping the lid of the box and tipping a single jellybean into his hand. “What, no faith in me? Think I won’t eat it?”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Regulus replies, crossing his arms. “You seem to thrive on bad decisions.”

James grins wider, holding the bean up like a prize. “You’re scared.”

Regulus scoffs, starting to walk again, uninterested in entertaining him. “I’m not scared, James. I just have standards.”

James matches his pace, turning the jellybean over in his fingers as he walks beside him. “Fine, fine. No kiss for rotten egg. What about… I don’t know, soap? Grass? You can’t say no to a grass kiss, can you?”

Regulus stops again, spinning to face him, his expression unimpressed but faintly amused despite himself. 

“I’m not kissing you after you eat anything out of that box,” he says, his tone firm. But then his lips quirk into a smirk. “Besides, you’re already gross enough without the added bonus of jelly-flavored shame.”

James feigns a look of mock hurt, clutching his chest as if he’s been wounded. 

“Harsh, Reg,” he says, but his grin never falters. Instead, he holds the bean up to his lips, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “But you’re definitely thinking about it.”

Regulus narrows his eyes, trying not to let his smirk grow wider. “I’m thinking about how to avoid it,” he retorts, turning sharply and continuing down the street, leaving James laughing behind him.

“Alright, then,” James calls after him, tipping the bean into his mouth with dramatic flair. “Here’s to hoping it’s not rotten egg.”

There’s a beat of silence after that. Then another one, because James, apparently, is chewing.

Abruptly, the choking sounds break the silence, and Regulus glances back over his shoulder, watching as James doubles over slightly, grimacing in sheer horror. A laugh slips out before he can stop it, and he quickly covers his mouth, trying to compose himself. 

“Oh, God, it’s definitely rotten egg,” James manages to choke out, his voice strained.

“You made your bed, Potter,” Regulus says, trying to suppress his laughter, “Lie in it.”

James straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he struggles to recover. 

“So… no kiss, then?” he asks, his grin returning even as his face contorts slightly at the lingering taste.

“Not a chance,” Regulus replies smoothly.

He hears James’ footsteps pick up behind him, and before he can react, James calls out, his voice brimming with mischief. 

“Oh, come on,” he says, his voice teasing. “Just one little kiss. For my suffering. I ate the rotten egg, after all.”

Regulus tenses, glancing over his shoulder yet again just in time to see James jogging toward him. His instinct kicks in immediately, and he sidesteps, keeping just out of reach.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, narrowing his eyes, but his voice wavers with something dangerously close to laughter.

James doesn’t listen—of course he doesn’t. He lunges forward, hands outstretched as if to grab him, and Regulus moves again, quicker this time, putting more space between them. 

“James, stop it!” he says, but the words come out sharper than he intends, not from annoyance but from the way his breath catches in his throat.

James only laughs, undeterred. “Nope,” he says, closing the distance again.

Regulus backs up further, his steps quicker now, his body twisting to avoid James’ grasp. “You’re absurd,” he mutters, shaking his head as he steps sideways again. His lips twitch despite himself, and he feels the laughter bubbling in his chest before he can stop it. When James lunges again, Regulus spins out of his reach, letting out a startled laugh, the sound breaking free before he can contain it.

He tries to school his expression, but it’s hopeless. James is relentless, and the absurdity of it all—the chase, the teasing, the way James looks so pleased with himself—cracks something in him. The laugh comes again, freer this time, spilling out of Regus in a way that feels impossible to control.

“Get away from me!” he says, but it’s drowned out by another laugh as James lunges again, forcing Regulus to sidestep toward the edge of the sidewalk.

“Not until you admit you’re enjoying this,” James shoots back, his grin so wide it’s almost infuriating.

Regulus backs up again, his laughter growing louder as he twists away. “I’m not enjoying anything,” he lies.

It’s ridiculous, really, how easily James can draw this out of him. But as Regulus takes another step back, the cool air brushing his flushed cheeks and his laughter echoing through the quiet street, he feels lighter than he has in years. Even if he won’t admit it, there’s something intoxicating about the way James looks at him—relentless, determined, and so utterly James.

James, though, doesn’t stop. The stupid bastard steps even closer, faster than Regulus can back away, his grin impossibly wide, his hands reaching out. 

“Gotcha,” he says, triumphant, as his fingers catch Regulus’ arm and pull him firmly toward him.

Regulus’ laughter cuts off with a startled sound, his hands instinctively coming up to push against James’ chest—but then James’ mouth is on his, warm and insistent, and Regulus freezes. The kiss is sudden and unpolished, and it shouldn’t feel good—not with the faint, lingering taste of that horrible rotten egg jellybean still in James’ mouth. But somehow, it does.

James’ hands settle on Regulus’ waist, firm and grounding, and Regulus realises with a jolt that he likes it. He likes the way James holds him, like he doesn’t want to let go, like he couldn’t even if he tried. And then James laughs against his lips, the sound spilling into the kiss, and Regulus feels something inside him twist and flutter all at once.

“James,” Regulus murmurs, half-protesting as he presses his palms against James’ chest, trying to push him away. But it’s weak, almost playful, because he doesn’t really want to stop. Not now. His fingers curl into the fabric of James’ shirt instead, holding on as their laughter tangles between them.

James grins into the kiss, pulling Regulus closer, his arms tightening around him. Their breaths mingle, the kiss deepening just slightly, not from intention but from the pure, careless softness of the moment. 

Finally, with a soft sigh, Regulus pulls back just enough to catch his breath, their faces still close, James’ grin as wide as ever. 

“You’re a git,” Regulus mutters, the words escaping him unbidden, but there’s no bite to them. If anything, his voice sounds almost… fond.

James smirks, his thumbs brushing lightly against Regulus’ waist. 

“You kissed me back,” he points out, his tone so smug that Regulus can’t decide whether to roll his eyes or kiss him again.

Regulus lets out a low, amused hum, stepping back slightly as he smooths his hands over James’ shirt, as if fixing it will distract from how his cheeks are still warm. 

“Let’s go,” he says softly, tilting his head toward the street. “Before you find another way to make me regret this.”

James chuckles, running a hand through his hair before falling into step beside him. 

“I don’t know,” he says with a wink, bumping their shoulders together as they walk. “I think you liked it.”

Regulus doesn’t reply, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips as they head for the theater probably says enough.

༻༺

By the time they reach the cinema and buy the tickets, James’ grin still hasn’t faded. He glances sideways at Regulus, who’s walking beside him with an air of dramatic annoyance, the faint flush on his cheeks betraying his composure. As they join the line for concessions, Regulus presses the back of his hand against his mouth with a groan.

“I can still taste it,” he complains, his voice sharp with indignation. “That horrible, disgusting rotten egg.”

James laughs, unbothered, leaning casually on the counter separating the line from the concession area. 

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” he teases, his tone deliberately light. “You’ll survive.”

Regulus shoots him a glare, his lips pressing into a thin line. “My suffering is entirely your fault.”

“And yet,” James replies, grinning shamelessly, “you’re still standing here, walking, talking, complaining—perfectly fine. I think you’ll live.” He nudges Regulus lightly with his elbow, but the other man huffs and pointedly looks away.

The line inches forward, and James can’t stop the flicker of satisfaction that crosses his face. Regulus may be complaining, but the way he’s holding himself—arms crossed, lips pursed, brow furrowed—feels almost playful now, as if he’s leaning into the moment rather than fighting against it.

When their turn comes, James steps up to the counter first, scanning the menu briefly before glancing at the cashier. 

“A large salted popcorn and lemon soda, please,” he says easily, then nods toward Regulus. “And a Cherry Coke.”

The moment James orders the Cherry Coke, he feels the weight of Regulus’ gaze turn sharply to him. He can feel those piercing eyes on him, and when he glances over, Regulus is staring at him with one brow arched, his lips pressed into a thin line. It’s not the usual smug smirk or cutting retort James might expect—it’s something quieter, harder to place, like he’s trying to decide whether or not to say something.

James hesitates, the cashier handing him his card back breaking the silence between them. 

“What?” he asks, forcing an easy grin as he picks up the receipt and tries to brush off the growing tension. “Not a Cherry Coke fan anymore?”

Regulus doesn’t answer immediately. He tilts his head slightly, watching James with that unreadable expression for just a second longer before turning back toward the counter. 

“Nothing,” he says at last, the faintest twitch of his lips betraying some kind of internal reaction.

The exchange feels strange, heavier than it has any right to be, and it stirs something in James he can’t quite name. He grabs the popcorn and their drinks when the cashier places them on the counter, all the while stealing quick glances at Regulus, who’s gone quiet.

It’s stupid, really. It’s just a drink. And yet, there’s no way James can ignore the weight of that moment, the faint pull of something unspoken hanging in the air between them.

He remembers the last time Cherry Coke came up; of course he does, because he’d missed a game-winning shot from his favorite player because Regulus had sent him off to grab a drink during the most important part of the match. 

Now, as they stand in line at this cinema, that memory stirs faintly in the back of his mind. The Cherry Coke was just a detail, a small blip in the chaos. So why does ordering it now feel like some sort of signal—like a thread he can’t quite grasp pulling at something deeper?

Shaking his head, James hands Regulus the drink without meeting his eyes. 

“Here,” he says lightly, forcing a casual tone. “Cherry Coke.”

Regulus takes it, his fingers brushing James’ briefly, and James can’t help but notice how the touch lingers for half a second too long. Regulus still doesn’t say anything, but the faint furrow of his brow remains, as if he’s wrestling with some thought he refuses to voice.

James clears his throat, gripping the popcorn bag a little tighter. “Alright, let’s find our seats,” he says, throwing in a grin to cover the way the moment has left him off-balance.

Regulus hums quietly in response, sipping his drink as he turns toward the entrance. But as James follows him, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more to this than a simple drink order.

The theater is dim, with only the faint glow of the blank screen casting soft light over rows of cushioned seats. The air is thick with the buttery scent of popcorn, mingled with the faint sweetness of soda and the occasional rustle of chocolate bar wrappers. It’s not crowded, but there’s a low hum of chatter as other moviegoers settle into their seats, the noise bouncing gently off the high, dark walls.

James leads the way down their assigned row, carefully balancing the large popcorn bucket and his drink. He glances down at the tickets in his hand, then at the small illuminated numbers marking each seat.

“Here,” he says, tilting his head to signal the spot.

Regulus steps past him, his Cherry Coke in one hand, moving with the same quiet grace that somehow makes James acutely aware of how clumsy he feels carrying the snacks. Regulus slides into his seat, settling in as if he belongs there, and James follows, easing into the seat beside him.

The chairs are surprisingly comfortable, the kind that tilt back slightly and offer just enough room for sprawling legs. Regulus doesn’t seem to notice—or at least doesn’t comment—as James sets the popcorn in the shared armrest holder between them.

He is quiet now, his profile calm and composed in the low light, the earlier playfulness faded into something more still. For the moment, everything feels almost peaceful, the theater settling into a quiet anticipation as the movie is set to begin.

The lights dim further, and the theater falls into a hushed silence as the previews roll. James leans back in his seat, his drink perched in the cupholder and the popcorn nestled between them. The screen flickers to life with vibrant trailers, each one louder and more chaotic than the last. Regulus doesn’t react much at first, sipping his drink and resting his hand lightly on the armrest.

When the movie finally begins, the room falls into a focused quiet, broken only by the soft crunch of popcorn and the occasional shuffle of someone adjusting in their seat. For a while, Regulus is still, his eyes on the screen, and James almost forgets he’s there, save for the occasional sip of his drink or the shift of his jacket.

Then, about twenty minutes in, Regulus leans slightly toward James and murmurs, “That’s not how that works.”

James glances at him, confused. “What?”

Regulus gestures vaguely at the screen with his Cherry Coke, keeping his voice low. “That sequence—it doesn’t make sense. If she already had the information, why bother breaking into her ex’s apartment? It’s lazy writing.”

James lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he pops another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “It’s a movie, Reg. Just go with it.”

Regulus doesn’t respond, but a few minutes later, he speaks again. “See? That shot—it’s a continuity error. His jacket was zipped in the last scene.”

James bites back a grin, glancing sideways at Regulus, who looks genuinely displeased. “You know this isn’t a documentary, right?” he teases softly.

Regulus huffs but stays quiet for a little longer. Eventually, though, the comments come faster—observations about the dialogue, critiques of the characters, and at one point, a barely suppressed scoff at what he calls a “ridiculously overdone plot twist.” At first, James doesn’t mind. He finds it amusing, and, if he’s honest, it’s kind of nice hearing Regulus’ voice, sharp and precise, even if it’s picking apart the movie.

But then, Regulus starts to get louder.

“Seriously?” he says, his voice carrying just enough to make a few heads turn. “She’s going to run back to him through the snowy streets wearing only underwear? How cliché can you get?”

James nudges him lightly with his elbow. “Tone it down, baby,” he murmurs, trying to keep his voice calm.

Regulus waves him off, still focused on the screen. “I’m just saying,” he continues, louder now, “if you’re going to make her the heroine, at least give her some dignity. This is lazy. Who writes this stuff?”

A man a few rows behind them shifts in his seat, his voice sharp as he calls out, “Hey, some of us are trying to watch the movie!”

James tenses immediately, glancing back at the man before turning to Regulus, who seems entirely unbothered. Instead of quieting down, Regulus leans back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, his Cherry Coke in hand as if he’s entirely unbothered. James can see it, that deliberate glint in his eye—the way Regulus is absolutely baiting the audience on purpose.

“Well, maybe some of us are trying to survive this mess of a screenplay,” he quips, his tone icy.

James’ stomach drops. 

“Reg,” he says under his breath, leaning closer. “Leave it. Seriously.”

But it’s too late. 

“Buddy,” the man growls, leaning forward in his seat now, “if you don’t shut your mouth, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Regulus turns in his seat, fixing the man with a calm, cutting stare that somehow feels more menacing than any shout.

“Oh, there’s already a problem,” he fires back smoothly, tilting his head in mock consideration. “The problem is the plot holes, the bad acting, and apparently, the audience’s lack of taste.”

James shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing between Regulus and the man behind them. “Reg, come on,” he mutters under his breath. “Enough.”

But Regulus doesn’t even look at him. He keeps his attention locked on the man, his lips curling into a cold smile. 

“It’s tragic, really,” he adds, his voice loud enough for half the theater to hear. “But I suppose some people don’t mind mediocrity.”

The man finally stands, his seat creaking loudly as he towers over their row. He’s built like a linebacker, all broad shoulders and thick arms, and when he steps closer, the shadows from the screen make him look even more imposing. James feels a sharp twist in his stomach as he takes in the guy’s sheer size.

“Who the hell do you think you are, huh?” the man snaps, his voice echoing through the theater now. “Maybe someone needs to teach you a little respect.”

James opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Regulus’ voice cuts through the air like a blade. 

“Oh, you want to fight?” he says, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Well, go ahead. My boyfriend will wipe the floor with you.”

James freezes, the words hitting him like a brick. His head snaps toward Regulus, eyes wide in disbelief. 

“Excuse me?” he whispers sharply, his voice a mix of panic and disbelief.

But the man doesn’t give him a chance to process. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” he sneers, his eyes narrowing as they land on James. “Alright, tough guy, let’s see what you’ve got.”

James swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as the man steps closer, his shadow looming over him. What the hell, Regulus, he thinks, every instinct screaming at him to find a way out of this. But when he glances at Regulus—who’s now watching him with a pointed, expectant look—something in him snaps. He can’t back down. Not in front of Regulus, and not when the guy behind them is practically throwing down a challenge.

With a deep breath, James stands up, squaring his shoulders even as the guy practically dwarfs him. 

“Alright,” he says, his voice steady despite the way his stomach churns. “Let’s take this outside.”

The man smirks, cracking his knuckles, and starts heading toward the aisle. James hesitates for a split second, glancing at Regulus, who’s still seated, his expression unreadable. 

“Stay here,” James mutters, though he doubts Regulus will listen.

As he follows the man, of course James hears Regulus scramble up behind him, clearly not staying put. 

“James,” Regulus calls, his voice low but insistent as he hurries after them. 

James’ heart thunders in his chest as he steps into the aisle, following the hulking figure of the man leading the way toward the exit. He glances down at his hands, flexing his fingers to hide the fact that they’re trembling slightly.

What the fuck is he doing?  

He’s never been in a fight in his life—well, not a proper one. He’s usually the guy who talks people down, not the one squaring off in a dark alley. But then, as he looks back at Regulus trailing just behind him, his pale face still composed but his steps quick to keep up, James feels a wave of stubborn determination roll over him. 

Regulus catches up, tugging lightly on James’ shirt sleeve, his voice low and sharp. 

“James,” he says again, urgency creeping into his tone. “You don’t have to do this.”

James throws him a quick glance, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “Oh, now you’re saying that?” he hisses under his breath, trying not to let his nerves bleed through his words. “What happened to ‘my boyfriend will wipe the floor with you’?”

Regulus’ mouth twitches, but whether it’s guilt, amusement, or something else, James can’t tell. 

“I didn’t think he’d take it seriously,” Regulus mutters, looking away briefly. “It was supposed to… defuse things.”

James nearly trips over his own feet at that. “Defuse? That was your plan?” he whispers harshly, glancing back as the man pushes open the door to the lobby, the faint light from the hall spilling into the theater.

Regulus doesn’t respond, but James can feel him close behind, the warmth of his presence oddly steadying despite everything. They step out into the lobby, the bright fluorescent lights making everything feel surreal. The man stops near the concession counter, turning to face James with a grin that’s anything but friendly.

“Well?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You ready, tough guy?”

James swallows hard, forcing his feet to carry him closer. He squares his shoulders and stands as tall as he can, even though the guy still towers over him. 

“Look,” he starts, trying to sound calm and rational, “we don’t have to do this. It’s just a misunderstanding—”

“Too late for that,” the man interrupts, taking a step closer. “Your little boyfriend’s got a big mouth.”

Behind him, James hears a soft, indignant scoff from Regulus. He doesn’t even have to look to know the expression Regulus is wearing—that defiant tilt of his chin, the sharpness in his eyes that says say that again, I dare you.

James holds up a hand, trying to keep the man’s attention on him. “Alright,” he says, his voice steady now, though his heart is still racing. “If this is really what you want, fine. Let’s just—”

But before he can finish, Regulus’ voice cuts through the tension, sharp and unapologetic. 

“If you’re going to fight him, at least try to make it quick,” he says coolly. “I’d hate for him to waste more of his time on you.”

James’ head snaps toward Regulus, his eyes wide with disbelief. 

“Reg—” he starts, but the man’s booming laugh cuts him off.

“Wow,” the guy says, shaking his head as he looks between them. “You really know how to pick ’em, huh?” He cracks his knuckles again, clearly ready to escalate.

James turns back to him, his hands curling into fists despite himself. His mind screams at him to figure a way out of this, but he knows there’s no turning back now. His pride—and Regulus’—are on the line.

The guy doesn’t waste time lunging at James, his fists swinging with wild confidence, but James moves quickly, ducking under the first punch. He steps back, his sneakers squeaking against the tile floor, and keeps his hands up defensively, his heart pounding as adrenaline surges through him.

“Come on, that all you got?” the guy taunts, stepping forward with another swing.

James blocks the hit with his forearm, wincing at the impact but standing his ground. The guy snarls, lunging again, but this time James sidesteps, letting the man’s momentum carry him off balance. James takes the opportunity to land a quick, solid punch to the guy’s chest that has him stumbling back.

As the fight continues, James dodging and countering as best he can, Regulus suddenly jolts out of his frozen state. Over his shoulder, James sees as Regulus looks around wildly and spots the guy manning the popcorn machine, who’s standing there, slack-jawed and useless.

“Uh, is everything alright?” the worker asks hesitantly.

“Does it look alright?” Regulus snaps, “There’s a lunatic about to kill my—” He cuts himself off, inhaling sharply, “Just get security. Now.”

The worker blinks, startled, but quickly nods and hurries off, leaving Regulus standing there, helplessly watching James fend off the much larger man.

James manages another well-aimed punch, catching the guy in the jaw, but the man recovers quickly, his frustration boiling over. With a roar, he swings hard, and this time, James doesn’t move fast enough. The man’s fist connects squarely with James’ face, and James stumbles back, his hand flying to his nose as pain blossoms sharply across his face.

“James!” Regulus shouts, rushing forward just as James steadies himself. His hands hover over James’ shoulders, his worry breaking through the veneer of cool detachment he’d been clinging to all night.

James lets out a groan, his hand still pressed to his nose, which is already starting to bleed. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though his voice is muffled and strained.

“Fine? You’re bleeding!” Regulus snaps, grabbing James’ face gently but urgently to inspect the damage. His cool fingers brush against James’ cheek as he turns his head slightly, his expression tight with worry.

The commotion is broken by the sound of hurried footsteps, and the security team finally bursts onto the scene. 

“Alright, that’s enough!” one of them shouts.

James barely registers them stepping in, their stern voices cutting through the haze of adrenaline. The man is dragged toward the exit, still muttering curses under his breath, but James doesn’t care anymore. He exhales shakily, the pain in his nose radiating sharply now that the fight is over.

“Shit,” Regulus mutters, his hands steady as they turn James’ head slightly.

“It's okay,” James mumbles, though the words come out thick and nasally. He winces as Regulus tilts his chin upward. “Really, it’s not that bad—”

“Shut up,” Regulus cuts, his voice clipped but trembling just slightly at the edges. He lets go of James’ face long enough to reach over to the concession counter, snatching a stack of napkins that the popcorn guy is already holding out with wide, startled eyes.

“Here,” the guy says quickly, clearly not wanting to get involved, though he glances nervously between Regulus and James.

Regulus barely acknowledges him, already unfolding one of the napkins and stepping back into James’ space. 

“Hold still,” he says firmly, pressing the napkin against James’ nose.

James flinches slightly, but Regulus doesn’t let up, his hands surprisingly sure despite the faint tremor James can feel in his touch. 

“Reg, I’ve got it,” James tries, reaching up to take the napkin from him.

“No, you don’t,” Regulus retorts, swatting James’ hand away without even looking at him. “If you had it, you wouldn’t have let that giant idiot punch you in the first place.”

James lets out a weak laugh, wincing as it jostles his nose. “Not exactly something I let happen, you know.”

Regulus doesn’t respond, his focus entirely on managing the blood. He dabs carefully at the edges of James’ nostrils, his lips pressed into a thin line. His face is so close, and James finds himself staring at the furrow in his brow, the way his lashes shadow his cheekbones in the harsh fluorescent light of the lobby.

“You’re lucky your nose isn’t broken,” Regulus mutters under his breath, though there’s no real anger in his voice anymore.

James tilts his head slightly, meeting Regulus’ sharp gaze. “What, no thank-you for defending your honor?” he jokes weakly, trying to diffuse the tension.

Regulus’ eyes narrow, but the corners of his lips twitch, almost imperceptibly. 

“ You should thank me I didn’t let him finish the job,” he says, though his hands soften as he presses another clean napkin into James’ palm.

James takes it, his fingers brushing against Regulus’ for just a moment. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

He stays still, holding the napkin under his nose, watching out of the corner of his eye as Regulus’ gaze flicks between him and the slowly darkening patch of red on the cloth.

For a moment, James wonders if he’s about to get scolded again—another round of pointed remarks about how reckless or foolish he’s been. But then, when Regulus speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words so quiet James almost doesn’t catch them. His eyes flick away, just for a second, before returning to the napkin under James’ nose. “I didn’t think it would… get to this.”

James blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. His fingers twitch slightly against the napkin, unsure how to respond.

“It’s alright,” he says after a moment, his voice muffled and thick. “I mean… everything’s fine, you don’t have to be sorry.”

Regulus’ eyes narrow, a flicker of irritation flashing through them, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appears. 

“No, it’s not fine,” he says, shaking his head slightly. His fingers remain steady against James’ hand, but there’s a tension in the way he holds him, as if he’s trying to keep himself in check. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just…” He trails off, his lips tightening into a thin line.

James studies him for a moment, the faint crease in his brow, the way his gaze keeps darting between the napkin and James’ face, as if he’s trying to gauge how bad the damage is. There’s something vulnerable about him right now that makes James’ chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Hey,” James says, his voice softer now, “I’ve had worse. This isn’t on you.”

Regulus lets out a quiet scoff, but it doesn’t have its usual bite. Instead, he exhales slowly, his fingers lingering against James’ hand for just a moment longer before he pulls back slightly, his hand falling to his side. He doesn’t meet James’ eyes, focusing instead on the cloth as the blood begins to slow.

James shifts slightly, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the throbbing ache in his nose. 

“You know,” he says, his tone teasing, “you could make this whole thing a little less terrible.”

Regulus arches an eyebrow, looking up from the napkin James is carefully holding. 

“Oh?” he says dryly. “And how exactly would I do that?”

James grins wider, leaning forward just enough to make his point clear. “How about a kiss on the cheek? For, you know, bravery.”

Regulus huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “James…” he starts, the faintest note of exasperation in his voice. But James doesn’t let up, his expression turning even more ridiculous, like a puppy begging for a treat.

“Come on,” James presses, tilting his head slightly. “Just a little one. I nearly got my face rearranged for you—it’s the least you could do.”

Regulus exhales sharply, as if he’s about to argue, but then he leans in, pressing a quick, light kiss to James’ cheek. Before he can pull away, James shifts just slightly, his lips brushing against the corner of Regulus’ mouth.

Regulus freezes for a split second, his breath catching, before he abruptly pulls back, turning his face away as a faint flush creeps up his neck. 

“You’re going to get blood on me,” he mutters, his voice quieter than before.

James, still grinning like an idiot, shrugs unapologetically. “Sorry,” he says, though he’s sure his tone makes it clear he’s not sorry at all. “I can’t help myself.”

Regulus glances back at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. There’s something in his eyes—an intensity, maybe, or a quiet thoughtfulness—that James can’t quite pin down. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, and Regulus shakes his head, turning his attention back to the now-quiet lobby.

James takes the opportunity to break the moment, grinning again as he straightens up. “So… are we going back in to finish the movie, or what?”

Regulus stares at him for a moment, clearly caught between disbelief and amusement.

“Are you serious?” he asks, his tone laced with exasperation. “Your nose is practically broken, and you want to watch the rest of that shitty movie?”

James leans back a little, his grin softening but no less mischievous. “I have to know if they end up together in the end.”

Regulus blinks, and then lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. 

“Of course they’ll be together,” he says, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s a melodrama. That’s literally the entire point.”

“Yeah, but I want to see it,” James replies, shrugging one shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Regulus sighs, taking the used napkin from James and tossing it into the trash. He brushes his hands off as he turns toward the theater entrance. 

“Fine,” he sighs, “But don’t blame me if people stare at your stupid face the whole time.”

“Fair trade,” James says, his grin widening again as he follows him back inside.

Chapter Text

The sun is warm against Regulus’ face, its gentle rays filtering through the swaying branches of the trees lining Lily’s backyard. He reclines on a cushioned lounge chair, his shirt fluttering faintly in the soft breeze, and the weight of his sunglasses shields his closed eyes from the bright afternoon light. It’s almost peaceful, the kind of stillness he rarely allows himself, though the low murmur of conversation from Mary and Lily ensures that he’s not entirely left to his thoughts.

Mary, stretched out on the chair next to him, has slathered her legs in tanning oil, the shine catching the sun as she positions them just so. Meanwhile, Lily sips loudly from a straw, the sound growing more obnoxious as it scrapes the bottom of her empty glass, announcing the absence of lemonade with a final slurp.

“Something’s not right,” she says in a sharp voice. The sound cuts through the tranquil atmosphere like a needle popping a balloon. “You weren’t supposed to have such a good date.”

Mary doesn’t even open her eyes, tilting her head lazily to the side. “Poor James almost got his nose broken. Where, exactly, is the good in that?”

“He kissed Regulus twice,” Lily retorts, sitting up straighter in her lounge chair, her empty glass gesturing dramatically for emphasis. “And he played that stupid jellybean game with him. And then he defended his honour, Mary. That’s a good date.”

Regulus, who has been pretending to ignore them, shifts slightly, a faint smirk threatening the corner of his lips. 

“We kissed during the movie too,” he mutters, his voice smooth and quiet, though it carries easily in the still air. He lifts one hand lazily, as if to dismiss the topic. “He smeared blood all over my mouth. It was disgusting.”

Despite his tone, Regulus can feel the traitorous tug of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and he quickly bites down on the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to grin.

There’s a rustling sound beside him, and Regulus opens his eyes under his sunglasses, glancing over to see Lily now sitting upright on her chair, her empty glass still in hand. Her gaze is fixed entirely on him, and it’s clear she’s not letting this go.

“What?” Regulus asks, his brow lifting slightly above the edge of his sunglasses.

“What’s with that face?” Lily demands, her tone accusing. “Don’t even think about falling in love, Regulus. In case you forgot, we’re supposed to be dumping James. That’s the whole point of the article. To lose a guy.”

Regulus exhales slowly, sliding his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose as he leans back again. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely know him.”

“Then what’s with the idiotic smile?”

Mary, finally pulling her sunglasses down to peer at both of them, grins slyly. 

“And what’s so bad about falling for him, anyway?” she asks teasingly as she stretches her arms overhead.

Lily snaps her head toward Mary, her expression incredulous. 

“Yeah, why don’t you ask Skeeter how she feels about waiting for the exposé of the century, only to get ‘How I fell in love with James Potter’ instead?”

Regulus groans softly, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses and letting the warmth of the sun coax him back into silence. It leaves him alone with his thoughts, and the breeze, and the faint, unwelcome memory of James’ lips.

Unlike him, Lily is not a huge fan of being coaxed into anything. Silence, especially.

“We definitely need a new plan,” she says.

Regulus sighs, now lazily tapping his fingers against the armrest, then adjusts his sunglasses.

“What if I just buy us some awful matching necklaces or those cringe-worthy couple T-shirts?”

“And?”

“And make him wear them in public. That’d do the trick.”

Lily lets out a dismissive scoff. “Please. Too simple. James doesn’t strike me as someone who cares about looking ridiculous. He’d probably wear it proudly, just to spite you.”

Regulus frowns. “Fair.”

Mary suddenly sits up straighter, a spark of inspiration lighting her face. “Wait. Matching shirts… What about concert merch ?”

Regulus tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

Mary leans forward, her voice full of mischief. “Yesterday, I heard someone in the cafeteria talking about “Weird Sisters” show tonight.”

“Where?” Lily asks.

“At the stadium downtown,” Mary clarifies and turns to face Regulus fully. “You don’t tell him anything in advance—just act like you’re dragging him to some random event. He’ll lose it.”

Regulus arches a brow. “Are you suggesting a bait for the ultimate humiliation?”

“Exactly,” Mary replies, her grin widening. “Think about it: you show up at his place tonight, and while you’re casually unpacking, let’s say, some of your stuff at his apartment—”

“What do you mean, my stuff at his apartment?”

“We need to exaggerate things,” Mary explains. “To make them look big and swift, you know? Bring a few books, maybe a sweater or two. Drop them in strategic places. A toothbrush for the bathroom, maybe a record for his shelf. Let him think you’re settling in.” She pauses, letting the corner of her mouth curl into a faint smirk. “He’ll spiral within five minutes.”

Regulus’ face lights up in understanding. “And then?”

“And then,” Mary continues, clearly enjoying herself, “bring up how you’re dying to go out and do something fun. Then casually mention that you happen to have tickets—no details, no explanation, just the fact that you’re taking him somewhere. He won’t even know what hit him until you’re surrounded by screaming fans and gaudy merch.”

“You think he’ll go for it?” 

Lily rolls her eyes. “From what you’ve told us, James is just clueless enough to fall for it. He’ll probably think you’re trying to make up for ruining his precious basketball game.”

Regulus tilts his head, weighing the plan. “So it’s all luck, then?”

“Basically,” Mary says with a shrug. “But if it works, you’ll give him a night he’ll never forget.”

Lily snickers, reaching for Mary’s tanning oil.  She glances at Mary with a grin. “We might actually turn him into a nervous wreck by the end of this.”

“Just overplay it,” Mary warns, pointing her finger at Regulus. “You have to sound like you’re just being thoughtful, not scheming. Think ‘spontaneous date night,’ not ‘calculated chaos.’”

Regulus chuckles softly, the sound low and self-assured. “Do you think I’d be obvious about it? He’ll think it’s his idea by the time I’m done.”

Mary laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, I love this. Poor James. He has no idea what he’s getting into.”

Lily smiles, tipping her glass toward Regulus in an approving gesture. “Alright then. You’ve got your mission. Go make Potter’s night unforgettable.”

Regulus lets out a soft hum of acknowledgment, though his smirk grows just a fraction wider. 

“He won’t know what hit him,” he says lightly, but there’s an edge to his tone—a quiet confidence that makes Mary and Lily exchange amused glances.

As the afternoon stretches on, they lapse into occasional chatter, the sun warm against their skin and the faint rustle of leaves filling the air. The plan lingers between them, electric, and Regulus tips his head back and lets himself smile just a little wider at the thought of what’s to come.

༻༺

The taxi pulls up to James’ apartment building just as the sun dips below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with pale pinks and soft oranges. Regulus glances out the window, adjusting the box on his lap, its weight balanced precariously against his knees. It isn’t heavy, but it feels like it is—the contents carefully chosen to give the right impression.

“Here you go,” the driver says, glancing at Regulus in the rearview mirror.

“Thank you,” Regulus mutters, handing over the fare before stepping out onto the sidewalk. The evening air is cool against his skin, brushing softly against his shirt as he shifts the box in his arms and heads toward James’ building. His fingers grip the cardboard edges tightly, a part of him already rehearsing what he’ll say when James inevitably asks what he’s doing with it.

The door swings open before he can knock, and James is there, grinning, though the bruises splattered across his face make him look more like a boxer than a man about town. His shirt is rumpled, and there’s a faint coffee stain on his sleeve, because of course there is.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, voice light, but his gaze drops immediately to the box in Regulus’s hands. His smile falters. “What’s all this?”

“Hi to you too,” Regulus replies, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. The box bumps James lightly in the ribs, but he doesn’t react. Infuriating. Regulus makes a beeline for the kitchen counter and sets the box down with more force than necessary.

He turns, smoothing his shirt. “Good to see you’re still breathing.”

James closes the door with a quiet click, his grin creeping back into place. 

“Yeah, being alive’s still a good time,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “What about you? Enjoy your day?”

Regulus waves a hand dismissively, already pulling items out of the box. “Spent it at Lily’s. Mostly listening to her and Mary talk at each other like it was a competition. Thrilling stuff.”

James hums. “Sounds nice.”

“It was excruciating,” Regulus says flatly, extracting a candle and inspecting it. He chooses a spot on the table, placing it down carefully. 

James watches him, his brows raised in mild amusement. “You’re decorating?”

Regulus doesn’t respond. He pulls out a jar of moisturiser next, the kind that costs enough to make James feel vaguely insulted on behalf of every drugstore in London. Regulus carries it to the bathroom like it’s a Fabergé egg, his strides deliberate, expression imperious.

James follows, grinning as he leans in the doorway. “Skincare? For surviving in my fluorescently lit flat?”

“You’d be surprised how much damage this lighting can do,” Regulus replies. He sets the jar down with care and turns to James as if he’s just proven a very simple point. “Or would you rather I let my skin suffer in your... environment?” He gestures vaguely, as though the flat might actually be a biohazard.

“Reg, this is a bachelor pad, not a luxury spa.”

“Not yet,” Regulus counters, turning back to the box. He pulls out a silk cushion and tosses it onto the armchair. Next comes a neatly folded cashmere blanket, which he drapes over the sofa like a king bestowing his blessings. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For me showing up.”

James grins, tilting his head. “You bring a whole box of that charm, or just enough for the evening?”

“It’s just a few practical things.”

“Practical, right. Like candles?”

“And books,” Regulus says, reaching back into the box. He pulls out a small stack, glances around, and heads to the bookshelf. “You’re welcome for these, too.”

“I wasn’t aware my bookshelf needed saving,” James comments, trailing after him.

Regulus doesn’t respond, too busy arranging the titles into a neat, aesthetically pleasing row. It’s a shame James owns so many paperbacks; the spines ruin the symmetry.

“So, uh,” James starts, leaning on the arm of the sofa, “You taking over my flat?”

“I’m not,” Regulus replies primly, though the tray in his hands suggests otherwise. He sets it on the coffee table and begins arranging a collection of trinkets on it—things James has definitely never seen before.

James steps closer, peering over his shoulder. “What’s this?”

“A tray.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But why?”

“Ambience,” Regulus says simply. He turns back to the box, pulling out a makeup bag. He carries it to the bathroom, fully aware of James trailing behind him like a curious puppy. 

“You’re nesting,” James declares, watching as Regulus sets the bag down on the counter.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’ve got candles, books, skincare…“ James counts on his fingers. “What’s next, your slippers by my bed?”

Regulus straightens, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “I don’t wear slippers. They’re gauche.”

James huffs, unshaken. “Of course. How silly of me.”

Regulus pointedly ignores him and sets the last item—a framed photo of himself—on the coffee table. He adjusts it slightly, steps back to admire the effect, and finally turns to face James.

“Well?” he says, folding his arms. “Does it bother you?”

James studies him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, that same infuriating smile spreads across his face.

“Not even a little,” he says simply.

And, of course, that makes Regulus want to throw the photo frame at his head.

He tilts his head slightly, narrowing his eyes and watching James as if he has already won whatever game they’re playing, even if James hasn’t realised they’re playing one at all.

“So,” he starts casually, letting the syllable hang like a thread, “how’d you spend your morning? Anything more productive than wallowing in your injuries?”

James raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Excuse me, but I’m highly productive, even while mildly disfigured.”

Regulus arches a skeptical brow. “Oh, really? Please, enlighten me.”

“Well,” James begins, taking a step closer, his grin lazy and self-assured, “I slept in, which was glorious. Then I spent the afternoon wading through work emails. Marvellous I know.”

“Emails,” Regulus repeats, his voice dripping with disinterest. “You must have been absolutely riveted. Truly a page-turner of a day.”

James chuckles, shrugging. “What can I say? Some of us have commitments.”

Regulus hums, the sound nonchalant, as though the mere mention of James’s commitments has already bored him. He takes a moment, lets the rhythm of their conversation settle naturally before leaning into the next stage of his plan.

“Lily and Mary were about as riveting,” he says airily, “though they did get me thinking about plans for tonight. You know, something different. Getting out.”

That catches James’s attention. He glances at Regulus, curiosity flickering across his face. 

“You? Wanting to go out? That’s a surprise.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” James says, the grin creeping back into place, “your idea of a good time usually involves staying in and scowling at things.”

Regulus exhales sharply, more a scoff than a laugh. “That’s absurd. I can be fun.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” James says, smirking now. “I just think your version of fun might involve glaring at strangers and judging their shoes.”

“Charming,” Regulus deadpans, though his lips twitch faintly at the edges. “But who knows? Maybe there’s more overlap in our definitions of fun than you think.”

“Is that so?” James asks, leaning back against the sofa now, watching him with that maddeningly calm, vaguely amused expression.

Regulus doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he busies himself with rearranging a stack of books already perfectly arranged, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make James lean forward slightly, waiting.

“Well,” Regulus says finally, “as it happens, I might’ve stumbled across something interesting.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued despite himself. “Interesting?”

Regulus straightens, turning to face him fully, his hands loosely folded behind his back, the picture of studied nonchalance. 

“I might’ve picked up a couple of tickets for tonight.”

“Tickets?”

“Thought it might be fun.”

James studies him for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly. “What kind of tickets?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Regulus asks, one brow arching elegantly. “Just trust me. You’ll love it.”

It’s a statement, not a suggestion, and Regulus holds James’s gaze for a beat longer than necessary, daring him to push further.

And, to his credit—or perhaps because he’s already too entertained—James doesn’t. Instead, he grins, slow and easy, and gestures vaguely towards Regulus. 

“Alright. Surprise me.”

Regulus hums, turning away to hide the satisfied curve of his mouth.

Oh, he will.

༻༺

James absolutely does not love this.

This is a disaster. A catastrophe. No—this is worse. This is a complete and utter nightmare. If he’d known Regulus was going to con him into this, he would’ve made up literally any excuse to stay home. Almost broken nose? Back spasms? Sudden onset of death? All of it would’ve been better than this.

Instead, here he is, sitting in an ocean of pink rhinestones, glitter, and obnoxiously bright concert merch, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans, while the Weird Sisters wail yet another heartbreaking ballad about ex-boyfriends.

For the last three hours.

And to make matters worse—to make matters infinitely worse—he’s wearing a bright pink Weird Sisters t-shirt, the front emblazoned with the image of the band’s four members posing dramatically under a glittery logo. It’s hideous, it’s tight across his shoulders, and Regulus had insisted on buying matching ones before they even made it to their seats.

The first hour had been tolerable. Barely. James had tried to keep a positive attitude. Regulus had seemed so excited, and honestly, that had been enough to convince him to play along. But by the time the second hour rolled around and the fifth song about crying in your ex’s car hit the speakers, James’ patience was fraying faster than the seams on his old soccer jersey.

When Regulus had mentioned the tickets so casually back in his apartment, he had been curious. Hopeful, even. Maybe it would be a play or a movie screening, something lowkey and fun. Maybe it’d be a sporting event—something he could genuinely enjoy.

He should’ve known better.

As soon as they’d stepped into the stadium, the massive WEIRD SISTERS: CRY YOUR HEART OUT TOUR banner had slapped James across the face like a bad joke. And it’s only gone downhill from there.

The crowd is a blur of glittery shirts, bedazzled hats, and neon signs proclaiming We love you, sisters! and Broken heart is our brand! There's a woman two rows down sobbing into her friend’s shoulder, and another group beside them is belting out every lyric with raw, passionate conviction.

And Regulus? Oh, he’s having the time of his fucking life.

James glances to his side, where Regulus sits perfectly composed—like the chaos of the crowd doesn’t exist—nursing a Cherry Coke as if he didn’t just drag James into the seventh circle of hell. 

The lead singer’s voice wails through the stadium speakers, crooning about how you took my heart, you broke my soul, and you still kept my favorite sweater, and James has to physically bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud.

He adjusts his ridiculous T-shirt for the fifth time, the material itchy against his skin. 

“Fuck me,” he mutters, watching as the band is belting out lyrics to You Left Your Keys (But Not Your Love) under a cascade of glittering confetti. 

From the corner of his eye, he notices Regulus turning toward him, slowly, like a predator who’s just caught the scent of prey. When James glances over, Regulus’ lips are pursed, his brow slightly furrowed. He looks… annoyed.

“What?” James says, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to meet Regulus’ gaze.

“What?” Regulus repeats, his voice sharp, his fingers tightening around the cup of Cherry Coke in his hand. “You’ve been sitting here sighing like some kind of martyr for hours now. I get it. You hate it. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

James raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Regulus snaps, his voice just a touch louder now, though it’s clear he’s still trying to keep his composure. “You’re rolling your eyes and fidgeting like you’re being tortured—”

“Well,” James cuts in, “you did drag me to a concert where every song is about someone crying in their car.”

Regulus’ mouth opens slightly in outrage, his cheeks coloring faintly as he glares at James. “So what?” he says, his tone defensive. “Excuse me for thinking you might actually make an effort to appreciate my taste in music!”

James blinks at Regulus, momentarily thrown off by the sudden fire in his tone. “I am making an effort,” he says, gesturing vaguely to his bright pink T-shirt. “Do you think I wear stuff like this for fun?”

Regulus lets out an exaggerated sigh, placing his Cherry Coke down with an unnecessarily loud clink. 

“I told you,” he says flatly, “you look good in pink.”

“Well, thanks,” James shoots back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That really makes up for the three hours of ballads about heartbreak and knitwear.”

Regulus’s jaw drops, his hand fluttering to his chest in mock offense. “Oh, excuse me,” he says, his voice pitching higher. “I didn’t realise it was such a burden to spend time with me. My mistake!”

James pinches the bridge of his nose, his patience fraying. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you implied,” Regulus shoots back, glaring now. “I try to plan something fun—something different—and you sit here sulking like I dragged you to a funeral.”

“A funeral would’ve been quieter,” James mutters, earning a gasp from Regulus so dramatic it could win awards.

“Unbelievable,” Regulus says, shaking his head as he turns back to his drink. “I can’t believe I thought this would be a good idea. Clearly, I misjudged you.”

James stares at him, baffled. “Misjudged me? Me ? You’re the one who blindfolded me with mystery tickets and then plopped me into this !” He gestures wildly at the glitter-covered crowd, where a guy in front of them is waving a neon sign that says EMOTIONAL DAMAGE IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE .

“You’re being overdramatic.”

“I’m being overdramatic?” James repeats, his voice rising. “Reg, I’m sitting here in a rhinestone circus, wearing a shirt that’s probably giving me a rash, while a woman two rows down is wailing like her puppy just died.”

“It’s catharsis,” Regulus snaps, sitting up straighter. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Because I don’t cry about people stealing my jumpers?” James shoots back, the words escaping before he can stop them.

Regulus narrows his eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line. He turns back to the stage, his posture stiff as the band launches into another gut-wrenching chorus.

“You know, I didn’t have to bring you,” he says, his tone laced with the kind of disdain that would make royalty blush.

“Bring me?” James says, incredulous. “You didn’t give me a choice! You literally said, ‘Trust me, you’ll love it.’”

“Well, that was clearly a mistake,” Regulus snaps. He sits back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other in a way that screams I’m done with this conversation. “Next time, I’ll just go by myself. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience your bigheaded—”

James doesn’t let him finish. He leans forward, his hand sliding behind Regulus’ neck, his fingers curling gently but firmly into place. Regulus’ words cut off instantly, his eyes widening as James presses their mouths together in a kiss that’s far softer than his abrupt gesture would suggest.

Regulus freezes for half a second, his body going still, but then James feels the tension melt, just slightly, as Regulus leans into it. The kiss deepens naturally, not hurried or frantic, but steady and sure, like it’s been waiting to happen. Regulus’ lips are warm and soft, a stark contrast to the sharp edges of his words just moments before.

The stadium noise dulls to a distant hum—James is dimly aware of the crowd roaring, the bass pulsing, but it all feels irrelevant. The only thing he’s focused on is the way Regulus’ lips move against his, tentative at first, then more certain. James shifts closer, his thumb brushing lightly against the curve of Regulus’ jaw as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

It’s Regulus who pulls back first, though only just, his breath fanning against James’ lips as his wide eyes lock onto his. His cheeks are flushed, but his mouth quickly curves into a frown.

“You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“This,” Regulus huffs, gesturing vaguely between them. “You… you shut me up with a kiss. Every time. It’s like you can’t handle me actually finishing a sentence.”

James can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, slow and far too pleased. 

“Maybe I just like kissing you.”

Regulus freezes, the words clearly catching him off guard. His lips part as if to retort, but nothing comes out. For a moment, something strange flickers across his face. James isn’t sure he’s ever seen that before.

He stares at him, his mind whirring. He knows he’s walking a fine line here—he needs to stay on Regulus’s good side if the deal is going to happen.

“Reg,” James says carefully. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just… not used to this sort of thing, alright? I don’t hate it.”

Regulus perks up slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Really?”

“Really.”

Regulus watches him for a long moment. Then, with a huff, he shoves James’ knee with his own, his movement quick and playful. 

“Good,” he mutters, “because we’re staying for the encore.”

Regulus turns his head away as if to end the conversation, but James catches it—the faint curve of his lips as he turns, the way his mouth pulls into a smile he clearly doesn’t want James to see.

James leans back in his chair, his own grin softening, the noise of the stadium melting into the background. He doesn’t push further; he’s already won this round, and he knows it. Instead, he lets himself relax—at least, as much as someone can while wearing an obnoxious pink T-shirt and surrounded by thousands of screaming fans.

The concert finally begins to wind down. The band comes back for one last encore, and while the audience roars in approval, James feels like he’s survived a battle. The lead singer struts across the stage, her voice belting out one final anthem of heartbreak, her rhinestone-covered microphone catching the neon lights.

Regulus watches intently, his arms still crossed, but there’s an almost serene look on his face now. Maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s the way the lights paint his features in soft pinks and purples, but something about him in this moment strikes James, in a way.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on it.

When the last note fades and the stadium erupts in applause, James stretches, rolling his shoulders as he lets out a long exhale. 

“Well,” he says, leaning toward Regulus with a teasing grin. “That was… an experience.”

Regulus arches an eyebrow, glancing at him sidelong. 

“An experience?” he repeats, his tone skeptical.

James smirks, tilting his head as he gestures toward the stage. “I’ll give them credit—they know how to put on a show. I might even forgive the trauma of wearing this shirt.”

Regulus’ mouth twitches again, and James knows he’s trying not to smile. 

“You should consider yourself lucky,” Regulus says airily, standing and brushing off his jeans. “Not everyone gets to attend a concert of this caliber.”

James snorts as he stands as well, smoothing down the awful T-shirt and falling into step beside Regulus as they make their way toward the exit. The flow of the crowd pushes them closer together, and James doesn’t mind the way their arms occasionally bump.

The cool night air is a relief when they finally step outside the stadium. It brushes against James’ flushed face, chasing away the lingering warmth of the packed arena. The noise of the crowd still buzzes faintly behind them, but it feels distant now, almost muted.

Regulus stuffs his hands into his pockets as they walk, his gaze flicking briefly to James before looking straight ahead. 

“So,” he says after a beat, “would you go to another Weird Sisters show? Hypothetically, of course.”

James scoffs, shoving his hands into his own pockets. “Not unless you drag me kicking and screaming.”

Regulus lets out a quiet huff of laughter, his lips quirking again. “Good to know.”

As they make their way toward the main road, James breathes in the cool night air, trying to shake off the lingering haze of the event. The neon pink T-shirt is still clinging to his shoulders like some cruel joke, and his ears are faintly ringing from the relentless screaming of the crowd.

By the time they reach the curb, the streetlights casting a soft glow around them, James has had enough. He glances at Regulus, who’s walking beside him with his hands still tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed.

“Okay,” James says, breaking the silence as he stops at the edge of the sidewalk. “How about this—we head back to my place, put on something that isn’t emotionally scarring, and make out on my couch until I’ve forgotten this nightmare?”

Regulus hesitates, his steps faltering slightly as he turns to look at James. His expression flickers for just a moment.

James watches him, trying to read the shift in his features, but he doesn’t give Regulus time to answer. He pulls out his phone, unlocking it with a few quick taps to call a taxi.

“Come on,” he says lightly, letting his hand rest on Regulus’ waist. His thumb moves in a slow circle as if to coax Regulus into agreeing.

Regulus exhales quietly, his gaze darting down for a second before meeting James’ eyes again. There’s something faintly apologetic in the way he smiles, and James feels his stomach sink even before he hears the words.

“You know, I think I’ll head home tonight.”

James blinks, caught off guard by the response. 

“Wait, why?” he says, his hand freezing against Regulus’ side.

Regulus’ smile widens just a fraction, almost playful now, and he reaches up to pat James’ chest lightly. 

“It’s been a… long night,” he murmurs. “And I’m sure you’ll survive a few hours without me.”

James stares at him, his mouth opening to protest but closing again just as quickly. 

No make out session? After that three-hour musical disaster?  

He can feel a mix of irritation and disbelief bubbling in his chest, but Regulus’ calm, maddeningly charming expression stops him from saying anything stupid.

Regulus leans up on his toes and presses a quick kiss to James’ cheek, the gesture light and fleeting but somehow infuriatingly effective. 

“Go on,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to put some space between them. “Call your taxi.”

James lets out a long, dramatic sigh, pulling out his phone again with a shake of his head. 

“Not even a consolation prize for enduring that godforsaken show?”

Regulus chuckles softly, slipping his hands back into his pockets. 

“Consider the company your prize,” he says smoothly, glancing down the street as if to signal the end of the conversation.

James huffs out a laugh despite himself, already tapping the app to call the taxi. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters under his breath, though he’s sure Regulus hears him.

Regulus doesn’t respond, just smiles faintly, the streetlights catching in his dark eyes as he steps a little farther away. And as James waits for the taxi to arrive, he finds himself watching Regulus—wondering, not for the first time, what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

༻༺

“Two days, Potter.”

McGonagall paces slowly behind her desk, the sunlight glinting off the massive windows of the Horcrux Diamond headquarters. 

“The Gala is in two days,” she reminds, “and I expect you to deliver exactly what you’ve promised.”

James shifts slightly in his chair, forcing a casual grin despite the tension tightening in his chest. 

“Of course,” he says, leaning back as if the weight of the entire campaign isn’t bearing down on him. “Everything’s going perfectly. Smooth sailing, really.”

McGonagall stops mid-step, turning to fix him with a piercing gaze. 

“Perfectly?” 

“Well,” James hedges, holding up a hand as though to temper her intensity. “As perfect as it can be when you’re, you know, juggling personalities, expectations, the occasional bout of chaos—”

“Potter,” Minerva interrupts, her tone firm. She steps closer to her desk, her hands resting on its edge as she leans forward slightly. “You assured me that you could secure a result. Now is not the time for vague reassurances. The Gala represents a cornerstone in Horcrux Diamond’s rebranding efforts, and the success of that campaign depends on you. Do I make myself clear?”

James exhales, his grin faltering just slightly. “Crystal,” he mutters, though the words come out with far less enthusiasm than he intends.

“Good,” Minerva replies, straightening and folding her hands in front of her. “Then I trust that you’ll arrive at the Gala with a suitable partner, as promised. This audience isn’t just an opportunity for us; it’s a proving ground for you. Horcrux Diamond needs results, and you need to deliver them.”

James nods, though his mind is already spinning. While things with Regulus have been going surprisingly well, James can’t ignore the growing weight of everything riding on this arrangement. The Gala is two days away, and the tenth day of their whirlwind relationship looms over him like a stormcloud.

“Don’t worry,” James says finally, his grin returning, though it feels a bit forced. “I’ll show up with someone who turns heads. You’ll get your headlines and your diamond contracts.”

“See that you do, Potter,” Minerva says evenly. Then, after a brief pause, she adds, “And make sure it’s someone convincing. If there’s even a hint of insincerity—”

“There won’t be,” James cuts in quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Trust me. I’ve got this under control.”

She raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Make sure I’m not wasting my time—or Horcrux Diamond’s money.”

James stands, straightening his tie and forcing himself to keep his grin intact. 

“Always a pleasure, Minerva.”

As the office door clicks shut behind him, the grin slips from James’ face. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides, and his mind churns with mixed emotions. Convincing, she’d said. And James knows exactly what’s at stake here.

The reason why he’s doing this has felt more and more muddled over the past few days. Sure, the contract is huge, the money astronomical. But every time he sees Regulus, every time they’re together, something he can’t quite explain shifts in him, and James knows this isn’t part of the original plan.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as he makes his way down the hall. Two days. Two days to figure out how the hell he’s going to pull this off without losing more than just the deal.

James steps out of the sleek, towering Horcrux Diamond building, the buzz of the meeting still echoing faintly in his head. He exhales, the tension momentarily leaving his shoulders as the sunlight hits him, warm and grounding. Striding toward his motorcycle parked at the curb, he digs his keys out of his pocket.

Sliding onto the seat, James glances back at the second helmet strapped securely to the bike—the one he keeps there for Regulus. It’s a small, unspoken gesture that he can’t seem to stop doing, even though Regulus rolls his eyes every time. James sighs, shaking his head as he pulls his own helmet on. 

“Get it together,” he mutters to himself, starting the engine with a low rumble.

The streets blur into motion as James weaves through the afternoon traffic. The hum of the engine beneath him is familiar, but it does little to calm the mess in his chest. He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, though. He’s already running late.

When he pulls up outside the Daily Prophet’s office building, James immediately spots Regulus standing on the sidewalk, his arms crossed over his chest, a small messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Even from a distance, he’s impossible to miss—the deep green jacket, tailored perfectly to him, the flared trousers that make him look taller, and the silk scarf knotted elegantly around his neck.

James grins to himself as he slows, flipping up the visor of his helmet. Regulus doesn’t notice him at first, too preoccupied with scowling at something on his phone. His expression is as sour as ever, but James can’t help but think he looks incredible, like he’s just stepped off the pages of a magazine.

“Oi, Reg,” James calls, his voice cheerful as he kills the engine and swings one leg off the bike. Regulus’ head snaps up, his frown deepening when he realises who it is.

James strides over, yanking off his helmet as his grin widens. Without a second thought, he reaches out, his hand slipping behind Regulus’ neck to pull him in for a kiss.

But before he can close the gap, Regulus’ hand snaps up, slapping James square on the shoulder. 

“None of that.” 

James freezes for a beat, blinking in confusion. 

“What, no kiss? What’s the problem now?”

Regulus glares at him, gesturing pointedly toward the motorcycle parked at the curb. 

“The problem,” he bites out, “is that you came here on that thing.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s my bike. What else was I supposed to come on?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regulus says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A taxi? Like a normal person? You do realise I’m wearing light-colored trousers, don’t you? You expect me to climb onto that and ruin them?”

James bites back a laugh, leaning in slightly. 

“You look great,” he says softly. “And trust me, I’ll drive carefully. No dirt, no mud, promise.”

Regulus’ eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to argue further, but James swoops in, kissing him firmly on the lips.

“James!” Regulus hisses against his mouth, twisting slightly to try and pull away. “I said no kisses! Don’t think you can shut me up like this again—”

James just grins, leaning in further as Regulus mutters against his lips, his words muffled. 

“Don’t even try to—James, are you listening? Stop kissing me while I’m yelling at you!”

Regulus finally manages to pull back, scowling as he takes a step away. 

“Moron,” he mutters, though there’s the faintest hint of colour on his cheeks that betrays him completely.

James smirks, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the bike. “Yeah, yeah. So, are you getting on, or do I have to carry you?”

Regulus glares at him for a long moment before sighing dramatically. 

“Fine,” he snaps, brushing invisible dust off his trousers. “But if there’s so much as a speck on these by the time we get there, you’re paying for a full cleaning.”

“Deal.”

James’ smirk doesn’t falter as he steps back toward the bike, grabbing the second helmet from where it’s strapped securely to the seat. Regulus, arms crossed and scowling, watches him with narrowed eyes as James walks back and gently places the helmet over his head.

“Careful with the hair,” Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes as James adjusts the straps under his chin.

James just grins, his fingers brushing lightly against Regulus’ jaw as he fastens the buckle. 

“Your hair looks fine, princess.”

With that, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

“James!” Regulus huffs, his lips twitching despite himself. He frowns harder, but doesn’t pull away.

James chuckles softly, straightening and stepping back. He brushes a hand over the handlebars as he settles back onto the seat.

Regulus mutters something under his breath, but he climbs on behind James, his hands resting lightly at James’ sides.

The engine purrs to life, and as they merge onto the street, Regulus immediately leans closer, his voice cutting through the hum of the bike. 

“Don’t go too fast,” he says sharply, the words more command than request.

“We’re barely moving, Reg. You’re fine.”

“Barely moving? You’re going at least five miles over the speed limit.”

James rolls his eyes behind his visor but doesn’t argue, easing off the throttle just slightly to keep the peace.

The ride is smooth despite Regulus’ constant commentary.

“Mind the turn!” 

“Yes, dear.”

“And stop weaving through the lanes like you’re in some kind of race.”

“Noted.”

By the time they’re nearing Regulus’ building, the sun has dipped lower, painting the city in soft hues of orange and purple. The ride, though peppered with Regulus’ persistent remarks, feels oddly comfortable—familiar in a way James doesn’t let himself think too much about.

As they pull up to the curb, James slows to a stop, planting his foot firmly on the ground to balance the bike. He turns his head slightly, catching Regulus’ reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Well,” James says, his voice light with humour, “we made it. And look at that—your trousers are still pristine.”

Regulus scoffs, sliding off the bike with practiced ease. He yanks the helmet off, carefully smoothing his hair back into place before shooting James a pointed look. 

“Your luck,” he mutters, though his voice lacks any real venom.

James just grins, his gaze lingering on Regulus a little longer than necessary. 

“Always am, when it comes to you.”

As Regulus finishes smoothing out his hair, he steps closer to James, his green jacket catching the golden light of the setting sun. Without a word, he slips his arms around James’ neck, pulling him in until they’re practically nose to nose. His weight leans into James as he rests against him, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of James’ collar.

James raises an eyebrow, his hands instinctively settling at Regulus’ waist. 

“Well,” he teases, “that didn’t take long. Quick to surrender, are we?”

Regulus narrows his eyes, but the way he huffs through his nose gives him away. 

“Shut up,” he murmurs. His fingers toy idly with the collar of James’ jacket. “What are your plans for the evening?”

James leans back slightly, just enough to smirk down at him. “Sorry, babe. With the guys tonight. Poker at my place.”

Regulus tilts his head, his brows knitting together slightly. “Which guys?”

“Prewetts from work. You remember them?”

“Mhm.” Regulus hums. “Anyone else?”

James shrugs. “Maybe a couple of other people. Not sure yet. It’s still up in the air.”

“Strippers?” Regulus asks dryly, the question dropping from his lips so smoothly that it takes James a second to process it.

He blinks before letting out a loud, unrestrained laugh.

“Strippers?” he repeats, grinning. “Of course. I had to go all out, you know. Glitter, boas, the whole deal. You should swing by, maybe get some tips for your next date outfit.”

Regulus pulls back just enough to give him an unimpressed look. 

“Hilarious,” he deadpans, patting James lightly on the chest as if to dismiss him. “Truly, your wit is unmatched. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home to do something productive with my life.”

He starts to turn, but James’ hands tighten at his waist, keeping him in place. 

“What, no goodbye kiss?” James asks, his grin softening but still very much intact.

Regulus hesitates, glancing at him over his shoulder. “You’re so needy.”

Without another word, he presses his lips briefly to James’. It’s quick—too quick, almost—but enough for James to feel the warmth of it, to realise he doesn’t want Regulus to leave just yet.

When they pull apart, Regulus’ gaze flickers somewhere between amusement and very subtle softness. 

“Happy now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he steps back.

“With you, yes. I am.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Don’t stay out too late,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “And don’t get too... attached to any of your poker chips.”

James grins, his fingers brushing the back of Regulus’ hand. “I’ll try my best.”

Regulus gives him a final look, then adjusts his scarf and turns on his heel, his green jacket flaring slightly as he strides toward his building with all the grace of someone who knows exactly how good they look. 

James watches him go, leaning casually against his bike as he tucks his helmet under one arm. For a moment, the world feels oddly quiet, the distant hum of traffic fading as his thoughts drift.

He exhales deeply, shaking his head as he swings a leg over the bike and settles into the seat. Everything is in my hands, he tells himself, gripping the handlebars as though to steady the thought.

It would be easier to believe that if Regulus Black didn’t have a way of completely unraveling him with a single look.

James sighs again, his lips quirking into a faint smile as he starts the engine. 

Two more days, Potter. Just two more days.