Chapter Text
If anyone asked, James would say that he’s doing perfectly fine by himself.
He has a stable job, a place to call his own, and even recently splashed out on a bottle of olive oil that set him back fifty quid. What more could he possibly need?
Still, he has his moments. Today, for example, he’s spent hours trying to will the stench of cat piss from his nostrils thanks to his first patient, Sweet Potato—a hulking beast of an orange cat who definitely has it out for him.
Groaning, James takes his usual three minutes to collect himself after his final consultation, resting his head against the wall and taking deep, cat piss scented breaths as he rolls his shoulders away from his ears.
“Dr. Potter,” Sybill greets him on his way out. James plasters what he hopes is a convincing smile on his face.
Sybill is the practice’s eccentric receptionist whose laugh resembles wind chimes, and ten times a week—he’s started counting—she offers him a reading from her trusty tarot deck, which she appears to keep stashed under the desk for emergencies.
Emergencies such as James’s love life, apparently.
He hasn’t yet been accosted by her today, which can only mean one thing—he’s in for it now. After a day full of various unwelcome bodily fluids, castrating a great dane, and delivering some very unpleasant news to the owner of a Peruvian guinea pig, the last thing James wants to do is think about the stark emptiness of his bed.
Plus, he already knows what his future holds, thanks to his routine, and if Sybill holds him up, he’ll be relegated to the squeaky treadmill. Which would be unacceptable.
“I was hoping I’d catch you,” she says, smiling softly. “There’s a certain… energy coming off you today. I’m sensing a shift in the air for you, my dear.”
James laughs nervously. “Good energy, I hope?” He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, angling himself toward the door. “I was just heading off, actually. You should get home, too…”
He trails off uselessly at the familiar, harrowing tap of Sybill’s nails against the tarot card box. Sometimes, he considers how useful invisibility could be.
“New beginnings, I think,” Sybill says, eyes fluttering shut. “Perhaps concerning matters of the heart. The ideal time for a reading. May I?”
“Ah.” James flashes her an apologetic smile. “I’d love to, Sybill, but I’ve got to beat the traffic.”
As always, she doesn’t argue.
Sometimes, James considers saying yes just so he doesn’t have to keep doing this. Then again, that might lead to daily readings, and he’s not sure he’d like what the cards have to say. Sybill appraises him with a knowing smile, jewellery jangling as she returns the tarot deck to its spot under the desk.
“Of course, Dr. Potter. Just bear it in mind, yes? New beginnings. Keep yourself open to all possibilities.”
Walking backwards and narrowly avoiding a stray chew toy in the process, James nods enthusiastically. “Yes, of course. So open. Wouldn’t dream of being… closed.” He pauses at the door. “I really wish you’d call me James, Sybill.”
“It’s your shoe, James,” Sybill replies, gaze fixed on his left foot.
“Sorry?” James looks down.
“The cat piss.”
James unties his shoe and brings it to his nose. Yep. Sweet Potato must have carried out a sneak attack between bouts of attempted murder. Nose scrunching, James waves the shoe at Sybill.
“Thanks, Sybill. Get home safe—see you tomorrow.”
“Have a lovely evening, Dr. Potter.”
“James!” he calls back.
By what can only be described as an act of divine intervention, James is spared from the squeaky treadmill, and he’s so relieved to be without the stench of cat piss that he doesn’t even mind the lingering sogginess of his left sock from the wet pavement between the practice and his car.
He runs until he’s too out of breath to think before nipping home just long enough to jump in the shower and grab the stack of tubs filled with this week’s offering—chicken and pesto lasagne.
Blue Moon Ink is always a welcome sight after a long day. Between the warm glow of the lights seeping onto the pavement, and the familiar flutter of the pride flag flying above the door, the slog of late November almost seems manageable.
Sometimes, James pinches himself on Remus’s behalf. It still makes him smile, to think of everything Remus and Sirius did to get here.
The studio may have been Remus’s baby, but James had been the one bawling when they first got the keys. And then again when the final touches to the décor were in place. And maybe a third time when they were officially open. Sirius was the first client. He wanted Remus to tattoo the moon phases down his spine, because of course he did, and James couldn’t even be annoyed by how sickeningly in love his best friends are.
Even when James decidedly wasn’t, anymore.
He forgets, sometimes. This will be his third winter as a single man.
Two years since Lily and he moved out of their cosy flat and James into his neat, terraced house. The sort of house he’d always imagined they might have a family in, one day. A big, scruffy dog, maybe.
It had taken some getting used to, rattling around it by himself, filling the cupboards with charity shop mugs and a worrying amount of spice jars.
Balancing his dad’s well-loved toolbox and entirely too much food for the three of them, James raps his knuckles twice on the glass before wrangling the door open.
“Only me!” he calls, heaving an exhale and dropping the toolbox; it makes a concerning clatter as it hits the hardwood.
James can always rely on his friends to be playing good music. Tonight, Springsteen croons about being on fire, and James smiles.
In the weeks after the studio opened, they went viral for the Surprise Me tattoos Remus offers. The client picks a record from their extensive selection, and Remus designs something inspired by it. As a bonus, once people realised that this was where Sirius Black was hiding out, they stopped having to worry about the hype dying down.
Sirius appears in the doorway, armed with a cloth and bottle of antibac.
“Hey, mate,” he says, brow furrowing. “Everything alright?”
James nods, going to pat him on the shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m good. Busy day?”
“God, fucking mobbed, but—”
“Want to eat before making a start? I brought lasagne. Oh, and dad’s tools—I know you get pissy when there’s a lack of variety in screwdriver size.”
Sirius just looks lost.
James sighs. “DIY night? Time to tackle the frankly unhinged number of Ikea boxes piled up in here? Painting that fancy cabinet Remus found at the side of the road and made us carry home? Any of this ring a bell?”
Sirius’s eyebrows raise in recognition.
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “I see what’s happened.”
It’s James’s turn to look lost.
“Wrong day, mate. We’re starting that on Friday, to give Re—”
“No way,” James argues with a firm headshake. “It’s in my calendar and everything!”
Sirius steps aside to let him through, and James walks into the room backwards, still cradling his precious tubs of lasagne as he talks, “And I specifically remembered because I know you wanted to make significant headway before your brother gets here.” James balances the tubs in one arm to point an accusatory finger at Sirius. “Someone’s got their days muddled, but it’s definitely not me.”
Point proven, he turns around.
Where he’s met with Remus, seemingly mid conversation with a stranger. Well, what was probably a conversation before James rudely interrupted them.
A stranger who, when James really looks at him, isn’t a stranger at all.
It’s the eyes that do it. A little darker than Sirius’s, but unmistakably familiar.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Remus grins. “Is that pasta?”
“Lasagne. Chicken and pesto. Oh, and squash,” James says slowly, still looking between Remus and… Regulus Black.
“I’m a vegetarian,” Regulus says.
“Oh,” James says. “That’s… vegetables are great.”
Regulus’s mouth quirks in a way that would come across as irritating on most people. He doesn’t remember Regulus doing that the last time he saw him. God, he’s certainly grown taller. Not quite Remus’s height, but taller than Sirius.
He tries to think. And then it hits him.
High school graduation. James was seventeen, and Regulus was… well, younger than that. He’d looked on as Regulus’s mother busied herself redoing the top button of Regulus’s shirt, even after he complained that it was suffocating him.
James remembers, like he often did back then, wishing a large shark would rise from some unknown depths and swallow Walburga Black whole.
Hell, he still wishes that, sometimes, when Sirius is having a bad day.
And now, here’s Regulus. Older. Taller. Free.
Looking at James like he’s a toddler trying to walk with his shoes on the wrong feet.
Sirius clears his throat. It snaps James back to the present.
“Sorry,” James says, abruptly. “I’ll just, uh, let you guys…” He jabs an awkward thumb at the door.
“Don’t be a twat,” Sirius says.
“I don’t want to intrude.” He looks at Regulus as he says it.
Regulus just shrugs. Like he couldn’t care less whether James is here or not. He’s not quite sure what to do with that.
“You’re here now,” Remus says. “Besides, I’m dying to try this lasagne.”
Desperate to detach himself from the scrutiny of Regulus’s sharp stare, James dishes up the lasagne and makes good use of the microwave.
Not having anything to offer Regulus makes him feel like shit. James almost hears his mum tutting in his ear. First impressions, Jamie. They matter!
But then, this isn’t a first impression. Not really. Sure, they’re adults now, but there was a time when James used to pass Regulus in the school halls, used to catch glimpses of him disappearing into the music room to practise piano.
Long gone are the days of slicked back hair, not a strand out of place. He’s let it grow out, dark curls framing his face. It suits him.
James catches himself staring, a forkful of lasagne hovering above his plate. Thankfully, Regulus doesn’t seem to have noticed. It’s just so… weird, seeing him after so long.
James was pleased when Sirius decided to reach out to his brother after months of gruelling therapy. He’d been tentative, of course, in case Sirius confronting his past made him crumble; James has spent too much of his life worrying about Sirius Black to stop now.
At the same time, it was an opportunity. And to everyone’s surprise, one that Regulus was open to.
Apparently, he’d gotten out of his parents’ house as quickly as he could, heading north to get a biology degree he didn’t really want.
While James doesn’t have the details, he knows enough to recognise that Regulus is still paddling to the shore after years spent in choppy waters. Just like Sirius.
Considering the weight of their childhood, getting to listen to the Black brothers bickering about pop music is enough to make James’s chest tight. Remus must feel the same; he’s the reason Regulus is here in the first place.
When he discovered that Regulus was fleeing once more, south this time and away from an apprenticeship gone sour at another studio, he jumped at the chance to have him here. Plus, from the portfolio that James has caught glimpses of over the past few weeks—Regulus is good. Good in a way that had James wondering why he doesn’t have any tattoos. He always said he’d get one eventually, but here he is, thirty-two and helplessly plain, despite spending so much time in a studio.
After a while, Regulus excuses himself, and Sirius pounces.
“Set up that dating profile yet, handsome?” he says with a predatory grin.
James scoffs. He’s getting rather sick of everyone meddling. Between Sybill, his parents, and his friends, it seems like everyone is more invested in his relationship status than he is.
He tries not to let it bother him, how he’s perceived these days.
Sure, the breakup with Lily was hard. It had seemed like a cruel joke for their trip to the Highlands—which had been James’s idea in the first place—to trigger a period of such acute loneliness, while the people closest to him were falling in love.
This only worsened when Lily went off to follow her dreams, freelancing in the Outer Hebrides and updating them with pictures of rugged landscapes, red deer, and the occasional puffin. While Lily appeared to bask in a gentle breeze that left her fresh-faced and alive, James struggled to brace himself against gale-force winds.
He is still her biggest fan, of course, even from afar.
He’s even glad that she’s coming home for Christmas. And is being very normal about the whole thing.
Plus, James loves love, whether it involves him or not, and it’s been a privilege to watch his best friends finally get their shit together.
Two years later, Remus and Sirius are as enamoured with one another as ever.
Sometimes, he’ll catch Remus watching Sirius with an adoring expression as he’s doing mundane admin tasks, squinting at the screen like a pensioner. Other times, he’ll catch the moment Sirius notices Remus watching. The dopey, childlike grin that commandeers his whole face.
James tries not to envy what they have; it’s a work in progress.
The answer to Sirius’s question is a resounding no. James hasn’t set up the damn dating profile. He’s opened the app twice—maybe three times—but never inputs anything beyond his name.
“Not yet,” James says lightly, skewering the last mouthful of lasagne onto his fork and hoping it takes him the next year to chew so he can avoid any potential follow-up questions.
“Personally, I’m still voting for the Hot Vet Goes Viral approach,” Remus says wistfully.
Sirius snorts, reaching to swipe a dollop of pesto from the corner of Remus’s mouth. He slips the pesto-covered thumb between his own lips, and the easy intimacy of it makes James ache a little. For what, he’s not sure.
Because the thing is, the idea of dating doesn’t enthral him. Fretting over what to wear for two hours only to find that he and his date have nothing in common? No thanks. Worse, potentially discovering that he’s forgotten how to carry a conversation, even though he spends a significant portion of his day doing just that.
He’s different at work, though.
At the practice, James has his shit together. It’s almost like once he leaves, that version of himself gets left behind, forcing him to move through the rest of his life on autopilot.
Lily would tell him that he’s working too much.
But Lily’s not here. And even if she was, it’s not her responsibility to bombard him with unsavoury home truths.
It’s hard to explain how James feels about her. Sometimes, someone will ask. His mum, or Sirius, or Remus if he’s had a glass of wine; it makes him weepy.
He’s rehearsed the answer, packaged it into something he can articulate. I love Lily, but not like that. Not anymore. What he doesn’t say is that sometimes, he wishes he still did.
Occasionally, in the small hours of the night, James feels an unearned surge of bitterness toward Lily herself for leaving London, for dodging the barrage of questions and inadvertently diverting them right to the centre of his forehead.
Then, he wants to give himself a black eye. Because Lily deserves every good opportunity she gets.
“James?”
Fuck, he’s zoned out again.
“Yeah, sorry, what was that?”
“You feeling alright? You look a bit peaky.”
“Just tired—you know how it is. Might head home, actually.”
Sirius frowns at him. There’s not much they can’t communicate without words, at this point. James tries to put on a convincing smile.
Sirius smiles back. “Go rest up then, so we can put you to work. You’re our muscle.”
Regulus comes back just in time to scoff at this.
Something about his stare makes James feel… uncomfortable. Like he’s got a blade pressed to James’s sternum, threatening to apply pressure.
Probably a product of his strange mood.
In the car, he deletes the offending dating app from his phone. He doesn’t need to date. He’s doing absolutely fine. Perfect, in fact.
He drives home listening to Voulez-Vous on repeat, full blast, to keep himself awake.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
James is running late.
First, he’d accidentally poured black coffee all down his clean, white shirt. Then, after trying in vain to get the stain out, he knocked over the replacement cup, covering his kitchen in coffee and shards of porcelain. Cursing, he’d changed and abandoned the mess, only to get outside and find out that it’s pissing it down, and his windscreen wipers have decided they only move in slow motion, now.
As a result, he spends his usually rather pleasant drive to work scowling, severely lacking in caffeine and the will to live.
Things only get worse from there, really.
One of his colleagues calls in sick, forcing James to squeeze in a frankly hilarious number of appointments. It all goes out the window after lunch, when an emergency gets brought in, and then James is pushing his own irritation aside to comfort a sobbing teenage girl as she cradles her beloved cat for the final time. A harsh way for the universe to force him to have some perspective.
He gets something resembling a break at half three, which is interrupted by a soft but insistent rapping at the door. Sighing, he calls out.
“Come in.”
Sybill shuffles through, rocking a bundle of blankets in her arms. A bundle of blankets that is somehow, whimpering.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she keeps her voice low, “but this can’t wait, I’m afraid. I had a very sudden urge to look outside, and thank heavens I did. Found this little darling tucked behind the bins.”
James pulls back the blanket, chest clenching at the shivering bundle of black and white fluff within. A puppy. He springs into action, then. If it’s too young to be away from its mother, every second counts.
Strictly speaking, he’s not meant to do anything. No one has brought the puppy in, which means no one is paying for its care. His boss would have him for it, he knows, but what’s he meant to do?
Miraculously, the puppy isn’t in terrible shape. After checking her vital signs, James offers her a chin scratch, which she readily accepts.
Sure, she’s hungry, shivering, and in desperate need of a bath, but there doesn’t appear to be anything immediately life threatening to worry about. He says as much to Sybill, who heaves a great sigh of relief.
“Isn’t that a little miracle! You’re going to be alright, aren’t you, you gorgeous thing?” In response, the puppy’s tail thumps against the table.
“She’s a lucky girl. Can’t have been there for long,” James says.
“What’s the plan?” Sybill asks, letting out a delighted laugh as the puppy nuzzles into her palm.
“Food first, I think. We’ll go from there.”
Sybill pauses.
“You’re going to pay.” She says it with the smugness of knowing something about James before he does. Sometimes, he worries that she can see right through him.
James nods. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“What then? We’re completely full.”
Deflating, he hums. He had, in fact, completely overlooked that part.
He must be losing it, because he’s reminded of Sybill’s predictions, of new beginnings. Maybe this is what it means. A companion. Hell, maybe it would get Sirius off his back, too. He can’t go on dates if a teething puppy destroys every pair of shoes he owns.
Plus, she’s very cute.
Painfully cute.
Like, TV advert levels of cute.
Sighing, James sets her on the floor, cracking open a can of wet food.
“Right, little lady, let's get you sorted. Then, I suppose you’re coming home with me.”
Sybill squeezes his arm, smiling fondly.
“You’re a gem, Dr. Potter,” she says. “Definitely due some good karma.”
“Well, wouldn’t that be something?” James chuckles.
“She’ll be very happy with you,” Sybill says, as James coaxes the puppy into a carrier loaded with blankets.
“I certainly hope so, for as long as I have her,” he replies. “I’m only going to foster her.” It sounds like the right thing to do. A temporary dog. James needs some excitement in his life, and this puppy needs some TLC—maybe they can help each other out.
Sybill just gives him one of those knowing smiles that make James squirm.
The puppy cries all the way home. He tries singing to her, but that appears to have the opposite effect.
There’s also the matter of giving her a name.
An issue that seemingly resolves itself, when These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ comes on the radio. James grins.
“Boots,” he tries out. “That’s cute, right?” In response, Boots continues to whimper. “It’s alright Boots, we’ll be home soon,” he soothes.
After the day’s previous frustrations, this whole ordeal can only be a positive distraction. James spends his evening giving Boots a bath, playing with her, and avoiding literally anything else.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
It could be entirely possible that despite being a vet, James severely underestimated how much work puppies are.
Once Boots has a few days of proper meals in her, she takes to leaping rather than walking, bounding across the furniture in a way that has James moving anything breakable from her path.
Thankfully, Sybill volunteers to watch her while James is in with patients. His routine shifts; gym sessions replaced by laps around the garden, then inevitably around the house too when Boots finds something to steal. Usually, it’s a clean pair of James’s balled-up socks.
Returning to Blue Moon Ink, he’s sure he’s never been so exhausted in his life. Inspecting himself in the car mirror, James pokes at his face; his eye bags have eye bags. Despite just running for an hour, Boots is ready to go again after using the journey to nap, wriggling in his arms, tongue lolling from her mouth as she pants.
Tentatively, James opens the door, but before he can adjust his grip, she’s off.
Boots tears through the studio’s reception area, nails clicking on the hardwood, sliding a little like she’s on ice. That is until she barrels directly into the legs of a wide-eyed Regulus Black, who makes a small oof sound as they collide. Boots scrabbles at his legs, desperate for attention from a newcomer, but Regulus is too busy scowling at James.
“Shit, sorry, sorry…” James groans, attempting to grab her.
“Just get it off me.”
On the third attempt, James manages to prise Boots from Regulus, opting to cradle her like a baby as a distraction tactic.
“Not a dog person?” he tries.
“Dogs are fine,” Regulus responds. “It’s irresponsible owners I don’t like.”
And well, maybe he deserved that one. Muttering another slew of apologies, he turns away, hoping that either one of his friends will save him from this.
“They’re not here,” Regulus says. “Said to tell you they’ll be back soon.”
James forces a smile onto his face. He can do this. How hard can it be to find something in common with his best friend’s brother?
“Right. So, uh, how’s it been… working with Remus so far?” James says, wrestling the string of his hoodie out of Boots’s black hole of a mouth.
James offers a nervous smile. Regulus doesn’t return it. Instead of responding, he appraises him with that same sharp stare that makes James feel he’s being tested for something.
He takes the silence as an opportunity to work out how old Regulus must be. Twenty-five? Twenty-six, maybe? When James was twenty-six, he clung to his youth like a safety rope. Regulus seems older. Then again, Regulus has had a very different life to him. James suspects that like Sirius, he grew up too fast.
He tries again.
“It must be nice to spend some time with your brother—he’s really been looking forward to it.”
Regulus hums non committedly.
“So, I actually have a sketch to finish,” he says, walking back to the desk without waiting for a response.
Accepting defeat, James opts to give Boots a tour while placating her with ear rubs, whispering so as not to disturb the other man too much. Regulus is listening to what James can only recognise as early 2000s screamo, the volume low enough that it’s almost soothing.
“And this right here is the plant that your Uncle Sirius grew all by himself! He will mention this at least once a week, but we don’t take the piss out of him for it ‘cause we love him. It was even smaller than you, at first.”
Regulus snorts, not unkindly. Alright, so maybe James needs to work on his whispering technique.
“I didn’t realise you had a dog,” he says, head still angled toward his tablet.
James takes this as an invitation to inch closer. He gets the feeling that Regulus wouldn’t show him what he’s working on, if he asked.
“It’s… a new development,” James says. “She got dumped outside the practice.”
“And you just couldn’t resist?”
“Someone has to look after her.”
Another hum. James waits to see if he’s going to get more, but the conversation appears to be over as Regulus’s brow furrows in concentration. It reminds him of Sirius, a little.
Deciding to risk it, he peers over Regulus’s shoulder and fails to conceal his awed gasp at the anatomical skull—a deer, James thinks. Covered in moss like it’s been plucked from the forest. It’s gorgeous.
“Can I help you, Potter?”
James takes a step back, skin hot.
“Sorry, I just…”
“Very nosey, aren’t you?”
“A little.” He grins. Clears his throat. “You can call me James, you know,” he adds, and Regulus raises his eyebrows.
It seems like he’s about to reply, an almost smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.
But the door to the studio opens, and chaos ensues.
Boots breaks free from James’s lax grasp, doing some sort of Bambi manoeuvre when she hits the floor before scooting toward Remus and Sirius.
Sirius takes the puppy’s presence in his stride, immediately scooping her to tickle her tummy. Her tail wags with such vigour that her entire body squirms against him.
Remus looks to James, to Sirius and the puppy, then shrugs, reaching out to let her slobbery tongue search his palm.
“Who’s this, then?” Sirius says, holding Boots up.
“Boots,” James replies.
“That’s a shit name,” Remus grins.
James sighs. “It’s being workshopped. We’re taking suggestions.”
“Sirius,” Sirius says, kissing Boots on the head.
“You would have me name a dog after you?”
Sirius just shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”
“Pretty sure you’re not meant to be so enthusiastic about the prospect of that,” Regulus quips, leaning back in the chair to stretch and revealing the pale skin of his abdomen in the process.
James puts some distance between them, realising how much he’d been hanging over him. God, he’s being annoying, isn’t he? Maybe he has forgotten how to talk to people.
For DIY to commence, they create a makeshift play area for Boots in the reception area, assembling walls with the sofas and gathering a pile of toys on the floor. She curls up beside a cushion, seemingly settling down for a nap after all the excitement.
However, two shelves in—which could have been three, if they hadn’t mucked up the first one—Boots appears in the doorway, tail wagging manically and what can only be described as a victorious glint in her eye.
Something hangs from her mouth, something that looks a lot like—
“Get back here, you little—” Regulus appears behind her, flushed and arms outstretched. “My pen!”
“Fuck,” James sighs, rolling his sleeves up and approaching Boots slowly. “No sudden movements, or she’ll think it’s a game.”
“I’m going to feed her to a flock of seagulls,” Regulus says, matter-of-factly.
James gets so, so close to grabbing her, but Boots is fast, and she loves to be chased. It’s almost impressive, the way she slips through Regulus’s legs and back down the hall, and Regulus makes a choked noise as his tablet pen goes with her.
Twenty minutes later, James raises the tablet pen above his head in victory. His grin fades, however, when he gets a proper look at it. Covered in teeth marks and puppy slobber.
“I’ll replace it,” James says quickly as Regulus stares at the retrieved article like he’s been presented with a severed finger. “If you send me the link, I’ll order it right now.”
Regulus just sighs, waves him off. “I have spares.” He wanders off without so much as another glance, and James wants to die a little bit. Now his mum is definitely in his head, scolding him about the importance of valuing other people’s belongings.
“He hates me,” James concludes.
Remus snorts. “It has all been rather unfortunate, hasn’t it?” Sirius elbows him in the stomach. “I mean… It was an accident. It’s not like you chewed on his tablet pen!”
James sighs.
“Don’t take it personally, mate. Reg takes time to warm up. Give it a few weeks; you’ll be getting along swimmingly by Christmas!”
“Plus,” Remus adds, “everyone likes you. You’re irresistible.”
“At least wait for your boyfriend to leave the room before flirting with me, Lupin,” James grins, fluttering his eyelashes theatrically.
Sirius scoffs, wrapping a protective arm around Remus’s waist.
“I’m irresistible too, right?” Sirius pouts, and James can’t help but laugh.
“Jealous bastard,” Remus replies fondly, pulling Sirius in by the back of his neck for a kiss.
James smiles at his friends, trying desperately to ignore the hollow ache in his sternum.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
Determined to redeem himself, James had scoured the internet for vegetarian recipes, landing on a lentil shepherd’s pie that he whipped up bleary-eyed and pyjama-clad when Boots woke him at four in the morning.
Regulus lingers at the door even after Remus and Sirius start tucking in.
“There’s plenty, if you’re hungry,” James calls. “No chicken this time.”
He notes the subtle movement of Regulus’s jaw as he scrutinises the plate James holds out.
Eventually, he nods, accepting it and muttering what sounds like a soft thanks.
“You do this a lot, then?” Regulus asks after a few bites, nodding to the food.
“He’s a proper mother hen, this one,” Remus says. “Which is great news for us, ‘cause we’re both shite cooks.”
“I like cooking for people,” James shrugs.
“Which is why it’s a crime that you’re single,” Sirius says, pointing his fork at him. “Of course, alongside all of your other very desirable qualities.”
Regulus tilts his head, eyes roaming over James with an amused smirk.
James doesn’t like where this is going. He tries to think of something, anything else to shift the topic to, and even wishes Boots would wake up from her sudden slumber to create a diversion.
“You even have a dog now,” Sirius adds. “You’re basically a walking fantasy.”
Okay, so maybe James had hoped the whole puppy thing would distract from his love life, not draw more attention to it.
“Though, I do question if it’s wise,” Sirius continues. “You already spend so much time at work.”
“First off, I’m only fostering her,” James argues. “Plus, I was being spontaneous! I thought you’d be pleased that I’m… branching out, trying new things.”
“Mate, taking in a stray is basically the most James Potter thing I can think of.”
“Which makes sense, considering I am quite literally James Potter,” James says, tone dripping with false sweetness.
Remus splutters on a sip of tea, choking while Sirius pats him on the back.
“Which… What's wrong with that, anyway? Being myself?” James asks indignantly.
“Nothing. You’re perfect,” Sirius says quickly. “It’s just not exactly what I meant by getting out there.”
“When was the last time you went out?” Remus says, between coughs.
“I—”
“Not to work, or to the gym, or here,” Sirius says.
“We go to the pub!”
“That’s still with us! I meant more like…”
“They’re asking when you last got laid,” Regulus says, gaze fixed on his phone. James assumed he hadn’t been paying attention, and yet.
James opens his mouth, then closes it again.
He’s too warm, all of a sudden, tired of his love life—or lack thereof—being the centre of attention. His skin itches under his clothes.
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he says eventually, crossing his arms.
“And there’s your answer,” Regulus replies, still not looking at him. “Can we move on?”
And while James would love to get the last word in, to point out that he has in fact gotten laid, just not particularly recently or regularly, Sirius barrels ahead.
“Before you tell me to fuck off, just hear me out,” he reasons.
Mostly, he just wants Sirius to leave it well alone. Which he might do, if James lets him say his piece. He nods.
“Let me set you up,” Sirius continues. “A few first dates. Just to get a feel for it again. Nothing too serious.”
“How many?” James has no idea why he’s entertaining this.
Sirius hums, tapping his chin, and Remus butts in. “Five. Five dates, five people.”
Sirius makes a noise of triumph at this, clapping delightedly.
“I need logistics here,” James says, attempting to backtrack. “Like… if I want to go on a second date, for example? Does that count?”
“No,” Remus and Sirius say simultaneously.
“Brilliant,” James scoffs.
“Oh, come on mate.” Sirius’s grin is infuriating. “It’ll be fun! It’s nearly Christmas! We can get you all dressed u—”
“If you think I’m going to let you treat me like a ken doll, you are severely mistaken,” James threatens.
Sirius pouts. Remus pats him soothingly on the shoulder. “Pushing it a bit, my love.”
“I have a condition,” James adds.
Sirius quirks an eyebrow, waiting expectantly. “No dating apps. You want to set me up, you sort it out yourself.”
“I feel like you’re going to regret that,” Regulus pipes up, locking eyes with James before jabbing a thumb at his brother, who looks like he’s just unwrapped exactly what he wanted for Christmas.
As Sirius wonders aloud whether one of his sheer shirts would fit James, James opts to fuss over Boots.
“Why not just say you want to be single?” Regulus asks. It catches James off guard, that the other man is not only responding to him but asking him questions now.
“Well. I…” James trails off. Truthfully, he doesn’t know.
Regulus scoffs, then, peering at him with something akin to curiosity. Like James has suddenly become an unexpectedly difficult puzzle.
“Or is that not it at all?” Regulus tilts his head.
James gawps.
It seems that he’s severely underestimated this man. He might have appeared shy and disinterested while sketching, or on his phone, or doing literally anything but engaging with James, but perhaps the truth is more complicated.
Regulus’s expression verges on mocking—anything but shy.
“Feel free to ask for some pointers,” Regulus says, smirking. James has to look away for a moment, flustered under his dissecting stare.
He clenches his jaw. He won’t be mocked by Sirius’s little brother, who has the disposition of a piranha.
“That’s cute,” he replies, offering a smirk of his own. “I didn’t realise you were old enough to have much in the way of romantic experience.”
Regulus’s mouth twitches, and James is momentarily pleased.
Then, he appears to steel himself, stare narrowing into something harsher. The cool grey of his eyes resembles a smooth body of water. A lake, perhaps.
“I’m just surprised it still works. You know, with your age and all.” Regulus’s stare flits lower on James’s body before returning to his face.
James can’t help it—he barks a laugh.
“Touché,” he says.
For once, it appears to be the correct response, because Regulus actually smiles.
Maybe James hasn’t lost his charm after all. In fact, maybe he can knock these dates out of the park, maybe even find someone to warm up the empty side of his bed this Christmas.
Boots noses at his hand, chastising him for pausing his ministrations.
“Adventures are afoot for you and me, sweet girl,” he says. She looks up at him with her big, brown eyes in a way that makes James’s chest warm.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
His first date is… fine.
They meet at a French restaurant, where James promptly trips on the pavement while trying to fix his shirt cuff.
Emily is nice enough. She teaches high school history, and seems to really care about it.
In fact, it’s all she seems to care about.
When James asks what music Emily likes, she claims that she doesn’t have a preference, and only really listens to the radio breakfast show before work.
Considering how much of James’s mood is dictated by whatever he listens to first thing in the morning, this disturbs him to his core.
He doesn’t say that, obviously.
Things go from bad to worse when Emily sends her coq au vin back to the kitchen not once but twice, despite insisting that she didn’t have a preferred dish and wanted to order whatever he got. After devouring his own plate, he barely contains himself from having a go at hers.
The most baffling mystery, perhaps, is how Sirius knows this woman. When he’d asked while dropping Boots off, his friend had simply waved his hand with a dismissive, oh, you know.
Other than… all of that, the date really is fine. Emily listens, asks about his job, and even politely laughs when the waiter mistakenly presents them with a bottle of champagne meant for the table next to theirs that would have consumed James’s entire paycheck.
Still, that doesn’t make up for there being nothing there. No spark, no passion, nothing that James can point to and say, ah, yes. That’s what I want in a partner.
James wants to be challenged, he decides that night, after offering Emily a polite parting hug at her car.
Neither of them seems particularly interested in a repeat performance.
One down, four to go, then.
“It can’t have been that bad,” Remus reasons.
“It wasn’t,” James says. “Just… not right.”
“And how exactly did you figure that out, then?” Sirius’s cutlery clatters onto his empty plate. They’ve just inhaled a rather unsettling volume of Chinese food.
James shrugs, considering. “Not sure, really. Gut feeling?”
He’s mostly just relieved to not be having this conversation with Regulus’s eyes boring into him. He’s out tonight, apparently meeting an old London friend. His best friend’s little brother has heard more than enough about James’s failing love life.
Boots has made herself at home in a donut bed, surrounded by an excessive number of festive toys that Sirius refuses to stop buying. Both him and Remus are enamoured with the puppy, and James wouldn’t be surprised if they end up with one of their own, once his dog-dad stint is over.
“She really didn’t have a favourite band?” Remus questions in abject horror.
"Right?” James exclaims.
Sirius chuckles. “Okay, so future dates need to have their music taste thoroughly vetted—got it.”
“It doesn’t need to be good music, as long as they have an opinion of some sort,” James says.
The soft sound of the front door closing interrupts them, followed by the jingle of keys being dropped in the bowl.
When Regulus appears, he’s flushed from the cold, the tip of his nose the harshest shade of pink. James is unexpectedly drawn to it; it contrasts perfectly with Regulus’s stoic demeanour, softening his edges.
“There he is!” Sirius hollers. “There’s tofu in the fridge for you.”
“Isn’t this cosy,” he says, mouth quirking. “Thanks.” His voice rouses Boots, who wriggles her way over to Regulus despite James’s attempts to catch her attention—she hasn’t quite got the hang of the whole recall thing yet. They're working on it.
To James’s surprise, Regulus doesn’t recoil in disgust, but offers the puppy his hand. His fingertips are pink, too.
She manages to get a chin scratch out of him, and James even thinks he catches Regulus whispering to her under his breath. Not that he can hear it over Remus and Sirius’s resumed conversation.
Regulus looks up, then, almost like he can feel James’s gaze on him. Their eyes meet, and James feels caught. Which is ridiculous.
He’s just curious, that’s all.
Anyone would be. Regulus is a mysterious guy. Unusual. A walking enigma, creative but stern. Gentle but biting. It makes James wonder what his life has looked like since they last saw one another. It also makes him feel a little guilty for not wondering earlier, for being so caught up in the wellbeing of one Black brother that he hadn’t considered what happened to the slight, teary boy who attended his high school graduation.
James looks away first, and Regulus pads into the kitchen.
He re-enters the conversation just in time to chuckle as his friends bicker over the best type of alternative milk.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
James has always been a Christmas guy. Not so much to do with anything churchy, but more because it’s a brilliant excuse to both spoil the people he loves, and spend as much time with them as he can. It might be naïve of him, but during this time of year, James feels like anything is possible.
Even in the depths of his post-breakup blues, Christmas gave him something to focus on. This year, however, he’s not heading to his parents’ place.
No hiding in his childhood bedroom with a plate of mince pies until his stomach aches. None of the familiar sounds: his dad playing Billy Joel on the piano, the familiar scratch of Classic FM late into the evening, arguing fruitlessly with his mum that ironing bed sheets is a dreadful waste of time.
Already, he misses the smell of cardamom, and the heavy fog that lies low to the ground on late December mornings. The way the neighbours always say good morning when he’s out walking the dogs.
When the matter of his parents taking a romantic trip around Europe for the month came up, James hadn’t even considered giving anything but his enthusiastic approval. Even when they’d looked at him with their Serious Expressions, lowered their voices and asked again. Are you sure? Really?
He’d said yes.
He’s a grown man. He can be on his own. Plus, he’d argued, he’s not actually on his own at all. Remus and Sirius would never let him wallow his way through the festive period. They did the equivalent of holding him at knifepoint until he agreed to stay with them over the Christmas week, delighted at the prospect of slotting him into the new traditions they’ve made. They’d drag him through it if they had to. James knows this because he’d do the same for them. Has done the same for them, and would do it ten times over.
The Christmas holidays were always one of the only times Sirius couldn’t flee to the Potters’, and being trapped in a house of bigots for weeks never gave him much reason to anticipate the holiday. Despite the tentative nature between the brothers, having Regulus here might do them both some good.
If nothing else, it’ll give them the opportunity to create memories that don’t involve being threatened with God’s wrath. The only evil lurking in Remus and Sirius’s home will be Boots. James considers the logistics of attaching the tree to the ceiling to prevent her bringing the whole thing down.
Plus, with Lily coming home, and Pete making it down for a few nights to escape Em’s pernickety parents, James will be glad to have them all in one place again. Being around them is the closest he gets to feeling whole, these days. Sometimes, he wonders if they know how much he needs them.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
Dating during December might just be the worst thing James has ever done.
Everywhere is mobbed, and loud, and fucking expensive. Not exactly conditions that encourage blossoming romance.
He takes his second date, Amelia, to a wine bar. Wine bars are trendy, Sirius had insisted.
They’re playing Mariah Carey on loop. Worse, as some kind of practical joke, the volume increases after each play. By the time they reach the dregs of their second glass, James is having to shout over Mariah, leaning in too close, Amelia’s gentle tone getting drowned out until James swears he hears the lyrics coming from her mouth.
When he suggests a pivot in location, mostly to quell his budding headache, Amelia gapes at him.
It’s only after she’s disappeared off to what he assumed was a bathroom break that he realises how much it looked like he’d been propositioning her. She never does come back from the toilet.
“On the first date? My god, you move fast.” Remus is trying very hard to hold back his laughter, and all James can do is glare at him.
They’ve just arrived at a rather shady, lowly lit car park in search of a Christmas tree.
“I meant a different bar! Preferably, one that wasn’t carrying out some sort of ancient method of festive torture.”
“Ooooh Amelia, did I tell you I’ve got a puppy? Want to meet her? I also happen to keep excellent wine under my pillow, what a coincidence!” Sirius feigns a swoon, knocking into a Fraser fir and getting a pointed glower from the man manning the netting funnel.
“I would have done a much better job, if that’s what I’d been after,” James huffs, making a show of stopping to inspect a rather nice-looking Nordmann fir.
A few steps behind them, Regulus scoffs.
James turns, eyebrows raised.
“Something to add?” he says.
This gets him a smirk. “What would you have said, then? To get her to go home with you?”
James grins. “I’d never kiss and tell.”
“James here is a proper gentleman.” Sirius slaps him on the shoulder, leaving his hand there and squeezing. “He’d probably just ask her outright, no funny business.”
Regulus cocks his head. “Not even a cheesy line?”
“Oh, he’d have used all of those up already,” Remus adds.
"Hey!” James tries to elbow Remus, letting the tree fall a little too far in the process. Without looking, he can feel the daggers he’s getting from the netting funnel man.
“You’re something else,” Regulus snorts, shaking his head and overtaking James to have a look at the taller trees.
He’s wearing fingerless gloves, leaving his eclectic selection of silver rings on display. Every so often, he rubs his hands together to warm up his pink fingertips, and James resists the urge to grab his hands and do it for him.
It’s what he’d do for any of his other friends, after all.
Still, it would be strange, considering he’s only just managed to get Regulus to acknowledge his existence. He wonders if acting on his impulse would make Regulus’s cheeks flush with irritation, or embarrassment, or both. If he’d scowl, or roll his eyes, before snatching his hands back.
Realising he’s been left behind, James jogs to catch up, not entirely sure he won’t get murdered in this car park, or put through the netting funnel. The festivities are well and truly underway.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
Following Mariah-gate, James is feeling apprehensive at best about his third date. As a result, he resorts to something he hasn’t done in at least a decade. Giving himself a pep talk in front of his bathroom mirror.
After fixing his posture, smoothing down bits of unruly hair, and triple checking that he hasn’t somehow poured an entire glass of red wine down his shirt—he starts to talk.
“Right, then,” he says. “I know we’re not used to doing this. And sure, the odds aren’t exactly looking great right now.” He sighs. Rubs his face. “But…three is your lucky number. Not that you’re trying to get lucky.” He clicks his tongue. “Just… don’t overthink it, yeah? It’s meant to be a bit of fun. Worst case scenario, you never have to see her again. And if all else fails, you can always just keep third-wheeling Remus and Sirius. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you tagging along as the Single Guy when they’re married and living in a cottage somewhere. Bet they’d build you a guest house. You could get chickens.”
Now he’s getting distracted thinking about cottages and apple pie and chickens. Boots observes him from the doorway like he’s a particularly curious-looking zoo animal.
“You think I’m cool and fun and not that old, right?” he asks her. She just blinks at him, but James decides to take this as a firm yes. Brilliant. He’s ready.
All that’s left to do is drop Boots off. She’s really taken to being babysat by Remus and Sirius—probably because Sirius buys the fancy raw treats that smell like death.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
He’s not expecting Regulus to open the door.
“Oh,” James says. “Evening.”
“Hi,” Regulus says groggily, like he’s been dozing on the couch. It’s odd, seeing him in a pair of loose pyjama trousers and a jumper so big on him that the sleeves bypass his arms altogether.
He looks… soft. For some reason, it pleases James, seeing him comfy.
“Sorry. I… uh.” He’s having trouble with words, apparently. Boots, entirely unfazed, zips between Regulus’s legs and into the house.
The silence stretches between them, and Regulus yawns, rubs his eyes, and looks at James properly. If James isn’t mistaken—which he very well could be, considering how dark it is—it almost looks like Regulus Black is checking him out.
The silence has James getting itchy again, and he uses it to roll his shirt to his forearm; he always runs too hot, even in December. Regulus tracks the movement, pinning him in place, before his eyes return to James’s face.
He smiles.
“Your shirt is buttoned wrong.”
And before James can do it himself, Regulus is on the outside step, reaching for him. Unbuttoning James’s shirt with one hand, deft fingers working, the silver of his rings winking up at him in the moonlight. He rebuttons the shirt, his knuckle grazing James’s chest in the process. The entire exchange can’t have taken more than thirty seconds, but after, James’s relieved exhale comes out in a cloud that spirals above their heads before disappearing.
This close, James can see an indentation on Regulus’s cheek, and wonders what he’d been napping on to cause it. The arm of the couch, maybe? Or the corner of a cushion? He has a freckle on his nose that James hasn’t been close enough to notice before now.
“There,” Regulus hums, stepping back.
The moment breaks, and James chuckles. Shakes his head a little. Forces the coiling weirdness in his stomach to unknot, to slip out into the cold like his misty breath.
Inside, a distant crash—the inevitable sound of Boots doing something she’s not supposed to.
James winces.
“I’ll pass along news of any outstanding property damage, shall I?” Regulus says with a small smile, the skin around his eyes wrinkling.
James offers a salute and backs down the steps, away from the door, away from the altogether strangeness of the interaction.
“Oh, and Potter? Good luck.”
“Cheers, Reg.”
“It’s Regulus.”
“I’ll call you Regulus when you call me James.” This gets him an eye roll, but James just grins.
──── ⋆⁺₊❅ ────
Apparently, no amount of luck is enough to salvage his third date.
Rita hates animals. All of them. Cats, dogs, fish. James could maybe have handled this, if it wasn’t followed up by a very controversial opinion on fox hunting that has him gritting his teeth hard; they’re in danger of ending up as croutons in his soup.
He blocks Rita’s number before leaving the restaurant.
Sirius is a fucking terrible matchmaker. No wonder it took him and Remus so long to figure their shit out.
He relays this to Sirius himself while pacing the length of his living room.
“Do you even know these people?!” James exclaims.
They’re all there. Remus nursing a cuppa. Regulus, cross-legged and sketching on the sofa. Sirius, hovering like he’s considering whether to join James’s pacing.
“I mean… sort of?”
“Sirius!”
“What?” he says indignantly, chin held high.
James frowns. Sirius has this look on his face, the one he wears when he’s trying desperately not to tell him something.
“Spit it out,” James demands. “Now.”
Remus whistles low. “Someone’s in trouble.”
Regulus snickers, looking up from his sketch and shifting his legs underneath him in a way that can’t be comfortable.
“I’d have visited much sooner if I realised you provided such riveting evening entertainment,” Regulus says.
“You should see them sloshed on whisky,” Remus replies wistfully.
Sirius huffs, holding out his hands in surrender. “I might have taken some suggestions from… outside parties, alright? Don’t kill me.”
“Christ, who’ve you been blabbing to about my love life?”
“Just… Marlene and Dorcas. And… Pete, maybe.”
The guffaw Remus lets out appears to capture Regulus’s intrigue.
“Pettigrew? And who?”
“Our favourite lesbians, who, now that I think about it, don’t seem to know many straight people…” Sirius winces as he says it.
“I can’t believe you recruited Pete for this,” James groans.
“Hey, he’s been with Em for years.”
“Exactly! He’s never had to date around!” James shoots back.
“Oh, this really is dire,” Regulus says, shaking his head.
“They haven’t been that bad,” Sirius tries.
“Tonight’s lovely date described to me, in quite nauseating detail, how she accidentally killed her childhood hamster.”
Everyone groans.
“Well, it can’t get much worse,” Remus says.
“Famous last words,” Regulus quips.
Maybe James should be in the market for new friends.
When Remus and Sirius disappear into the kitchen to feel each other up for twenty minutes—otherwise known as doing the dishes—James flops onto the couch next to Regulus with a heavy sigh.
It seems like the perfect opportunity to take another peek at his sketches. This time, he’s working on a bug of some sort. James twists his head to get a closer look.
“It’s a scarab beetle,” Regulus says, without James having to ask.
“I like it,” James replies. “Your work is insane. In a good way, I mean. You’re very talented. Got anything else in the pipeline?”
Regulus pauses, searches James’s face for a moment.
Then, as if someone’s flipped a switch, he starts talking.
“I want to do moths next. They’re my favourite, I think, so many intricate patterns. There’s this massive one called the Hercules moth; the males have these tapered tails on their wings. Oh, and the death’s-head hawkmoth! Fuck, they’re cool. Hold on, I’ve got a picture…” As he talks, James can’t help but notice the way his eyes glint. The passion suddenly seeping from him so readily that James doesn’t know how this is the first time he’s noticed it. It’s only when Regulus pulls out his phone that he pauses. Schools his expression back to neutral so quickly that he might not have said anything at all. He laughs, humourless.
“Sorry,” he says.
James’s chest clenches. He’s seen Sirius do a variation of this, compartmentalising himself into digestible pieces so as not to be too much. Again—James has many things he’d like to say to Walburga Black.
“Wait,” James says, brow furrowed. “Death’s-head?”
“You don’t have to feign interest, you know. It’s alright.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never been much good at feigning anything.” He offers Regulus what he hopes is a charming smile.
Regulus eyes him warily, then sighs. Tilts his phone so James can see what is, in fact, a really cool moth.
For once, Remus and Sirius return from the kitchen too soon. James almost forgot they were there, engrossed in listening to Regulus tell him all about the squeaking sound the death's-head can make. He even misses an opportunity to tease Remus about the sudden inside-outness of his jumper, and when the conversation shifts to planning their festivities, James resists the urge to bring up something to reignite the spark in Regulus that had caught alight.
Planning Christmas is very official business, though, and requires his full attention. They’ve all been given roles.
James, of course, is cooking. He’s politely refused help from both of his friends, as setting the kitchen on fire doesn’t make for a very jolly Christmas. Ideally, and if Boots gives him a chance, he’ll get some baking done too. ‘Tis the season, and all that.
Sirius has compiled his list of Fucking Fantastic Festive Films, and has acquired a bunch of the silliest board games imaginable to get them through—he’s especially gleeful about a Christmas edition of Monopoly he secured in a Shepherd’s Bush charity shop.
Remus is curating the ultimate Christmas playlist, which Mariah Carey is pointedly absent from.
Somehow, they’ve even gotten Regulus involved after discovering he has a penchant for paper crafts. Nimble fingers, that one, Sirius says fondly as his brother begrudgingly makes delicate snowflakes to hang alongside the fairy lights.
The matter of presents was a point of contention between them.
In the end, Lily acts as their resident mediator and suggests in the group chat that they draw names, leaving all gift exchanges to the fate of Secret Santa.
Using an online generator, they do just that.
And while James usually wouldn’t particularly care who he got, it does feel strangely like he’s being mocked by the Secret Santa Gods. He stares at the screen, unblinking, until his eyes water.
Regulus.
James has always considered himself an excellent gift giver. But now, glancing briefly over at his best friend’s brother, who he’s still not sure doesn’t hate him, he might have reason to doubt his abilities.
“This is gonna be great,” Sirius grins, rubbing his hands together.
"Yeah, great," James says, trying not to grimace.