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When Sirius starts running his fingers through his younger brother’s hair, Regulus wonders what he may be thinking. Regulus’ hair is greasy and itchy, curls undone from the lack of washing, and yet Sirius continues to dig his blunt hails into his scalp to lightly scratch it. It feels wonderful though; Regulus has always enjoyed having his hair played with.
Minutes later, when Sirius thinks Regulus has fallen asleep, he moves away. He bends down to drop a kiss onto Regulus’ forehead, and then as he’s slipping off the bed, Sirius calls softly into the dark, “Moony.”
It’s so quiet, Regulus can barely hear it, but there it is. Perhaps Sirius has come to a decision about Regulus. There must be something done about him. He cannot just continue rotting in this bed. And if Sirius Black is anything, he’s proactive. Before Regulus gets worse, there must be something done about this situation. That’s just how it will be.
Regulus doesn’t hear the decision that’s been made since Sirius and Remus both leave the room, closing the door behind them. Regulus opens his eyes and stares at the wall. He feels empty. Tired.
He supposes there are a few things that Sirius could do about him. The first thing, of course, is kick Regulus out of his flat. Why had Regulus come here? If he wanted to find a hole to die in, it should have been his own. Did he have a last minute burst of inspiration that maybe his brother might help him out of the darkness? It’s unlikely that Sirius would return him to his own apartment, but it’s certainly a choice. If someone had occupied Regulus’ house like this, it would be high on the list of plausible ways to get rid of someone.
The next thing he thinks Sirius could do is get a healer to visit the house. This one, as Sirius has become more holistic while living with Remus Lupin, is more likely. In fact, it’s a surprise that in the last week that Regulus has been hiding out in this flat, his older brother hasn’t thought to call one down.
Sirius could also send Regulus away to St. Mungo’s for treatment for his wellness. If Remus is part of the decision making process, it might be a possibility. After all, between Remus and Sirius, Remus has spent the longest time in St. Mungo’s. He knows it best and would probably recommend it.
Anything to get the sick person out of their house.
Regulus has been a burden at the Lupin-Black household for the past week.
He hasn’t eaten any meals. If he has, he’s vomited it all out moments later. He hasn’t had much water. He hasn’t left this bed in days. He’s spent his time staring up at the wall or the ceiling. He’s done nothing. He’s felt nothing.
Regulus closes his eyes again, a strange lethargic wave rolling through him. He’s been sleeping nonstop, and yet his body truly believes there’s more resting to be done. And so he gives into the temptation and allows the black and sweet unconsciousness to pull him back under.
The next time Regulus wakes, it’s 9 at night. He has a pounding headache from oversleeping and his stomach groans from lack of food. When he sits up, the blood leaves his head, lingering aches in its wake, and then, mindlessly, he shuffles to the bathroom.
His toothbrush is there, as well as if his few facial cleansers and moisturizes that he brought with him to Sirius’ place, but even though he wants nothing more than to be clean, the thought of putting in an effort to get to that level is just unbearable to muster. With what weak magic he has, he attempts to freshen himself up with a charm and then scraps his hair back into a bun.
Remus is working in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, apron tied around his waist. In one hand, he holds a ladle, and in the other, a quill. He’s bent over the counter with the quill, scribbling on a parchment. When he hears Regulus’ footsteps, he turns and glances over his shoulder.
“Hi, you,” Remus says quietly, as if trying not to startle Regulus. “Hungry?”
Regulus holds a hand over his stomach and nods.
“Soup is almost done. Where do you want to sit?”
Regulus looks at the dining table and then the living room. Maybe he takes too long to answer because Remus supplies, “I’ll bring it to you, okay?”
Regulus nods and shuffles to the living room. He thinks about laying down, but the movement will hurt his head, so instead he sits on the floor and draws his knees to his chest. Rests his head on his knees and closes his eyes.
The scariest part about this whole ordeal is that unlike the previous times when his depressive episodes hit hard, now he feels nothing. Thinks nothing. Wants nothing. He could stay in this position for hours. Normally, he has some deprecating thoughts or even farfetched plans for himself when he eventually feels better, but none of that happens now. Absolutely nothing.
Remus comes to him with a tray and bowl of soup, crouching down before him. Besides the soup is a dish of fish shaped crackers.
“They’re called Goldfish crackers. My ma used to put them in my soup after my moons. They’re good. Try one.”
Regulus puts one in his mouth.
It tastes like nothing.
“It’s hot, so be careful,” Remus says, putting the tray on Regulus’ lap. “Do you want to sit on the couch?”
Regulus shakes his head.
“Okay,” Remus says, standing back to his full height. As he leaves, he passes a gentle hand over Regulus’ head.
Maybe the soup is good. Maybe it’s terrible. Regulus can’t tell considering it doesn’t taste like anything. He gets most of it down, mouth on fire from the temperature, but if that’s the only thing he can feel right now, that’s fine. He’ll take it in large doses.
How much longer will he be like this?
How much longer until Sirius tells him to get out?
Speaking of which, Remus and Sirius are talking again, this time in the kitchen. Regulus puts his soup down when his slurping interferes with listening, and as soon as he can hear properly, he catches the tail end of whatever Remus is saying.
“—call James.”
Regulus’ heart drops. His shoulders turn into his chest, curls in his face. With the remainder of his strength, Regulus stands with his tray and brings the empty bowl to the kitchen.
Sirius is resting his head on his lover’s shoulder, Remus rubbing his back. They glance up.
“Reggie,” Sirius says brightly. “I’m so happy to see you out of bed.”
Regulus takes a step. “Please. Please don’t call him.”
Sirius’ expression shutters. “Hm?”
“James. I mean it. Please, don’t call him.”
His brother lets Remus go and walks to Regulus. “Did you two have a fight?”
“No.”
Sirius hesitates. “Did you two break up?”
“No. He’s — he’s just away.”
“Yeah, he’s away right now. But did anything happen before?”
“No.”
Sirius touches Regulus’ arm. “I think we should call him. He’s the best person to help you.”
“No,” Regulus says a little more forcefully. “He’s away right now.”
“He’s on Ministry business, not gone for eternity. He’s only in France.”
“I know,” Regulus says because he knows. He spent days going over the itinerary with James about his trip. And then the following day tracing over the parchment with the schedule imagining James at each of the places at the respective times.
“He’s supposed to be back in three days anyway. So what if we call him back a little early. Hey,” Sirius repeats, tugging his arm. “He would want us to call him. You know that.”
But Regulus doesn’t want that. James had been so bright eyed and happy when he got the owl that Moody had requested him specifically for this project. Previously someone to leave essentials until the final moment, James had packed his bags days in advance purely out of excitement.
The darkness within Regulus had started to creep in days before James received the letter from Moody, and when it finally came, Regulus swallowed his emotions because if there was anything James needed in that moment, it was love and kindness, not the overbearing barrage of negative emotions. It has always been clear to Regulus that he and James feed off of each other, thus when Regulus feels ill or unwell about himself, it is James that drops every responsibility because it’s unfair for his own world to continue turning when Regulus’ isn’t. For the longest time, Regulus thought that James did it on purpose, letting himself go to take care of Regulus when these attacks would come onto Regulus at the most random moments, but soon it became clear that James simply couldn’t exist in having a normal schedule because his time and mood depended entirely on Regulus.
Regulus wishes he could say James has the same effect on him on this type of magnitude, however, that would not be true. Yes, Regulus responds to James’ mood as they come and go because it affects how James interacts in their relationship. But on a larger scale, Regulus’ own terrible mood swings affect him the most, taking no consideration of the relationship he’s in, nor the consequences he’ll have on James.
Regulus is well aware that if James receives a phone call, he will be back in London within hours.
That’s what frightens Regulus.
“He’s busy,” Regulus says, turning away as if to signal that the conversation is over and that he’s had the last word. “He has a lot to do.”
“Reggie,” Sirius says softly. “You’re not well. I really think you need him here.”
If his brother said this to him years ago, Regulus would have laughed in his face. Did he really need James Potter? Absolutely not.
But now, did James Potter certainly make things better for him?
Well.
Regulus shakily tucks a tendril of hair behind his ear. “Do not call James. I will leave in the morning. I will go back to my apartment.”
“That’s not the issue,” Sirius insists, an edge to his voice. He follows Regulus as the younger brother walks back to the sofa and lays down, bringing his knees to his chest. “I don’t care that you’re here, Reggie. You can stay as long as you want.”
Regulus knows that’s not really what Sirius wants to say, nor what he means. It’s a burden to have someone taking over the personal space of another, even if they’re siblings. He’s impeding on time spent between Remus and Sirius.
Sirius throws a blanket over Regulus, crouching down in front of him. He smooths a hand through the dark curls now beginning to mat against Regulus’ head. Sirius sighs. “You want to sleep here tonight?”’
“Yeah.”
“It’ll get a little cold, mon petit pin.”
Regulus’ heart squeezes at the nickname. “I’m fine.”
Sirius frowns. “Call me if you need something?”
“Yeah.”
Regulus just wants his brother to go away, to stop trying make him feel welcomed and loved. Nobody could love a thing like him. Sirius is only obligated to do this because kicking out his brother is simply rude. Regulus is sure that Remus and Sirius will talk about his removal from their house when they retire to their bed.
Sirius kisses the top of his head and then stands, shutting off the lights as he returns to the kitchen.
Tears slide down Regulus’ face and onto the cushions beneath his head. He’s too tired to wipe them away. Despite oversleeping, he finds solace in returning to sleep again. After all, it’s less time awake, and less time being himself.
Regulus wakes before the sun is up. Something feels off.
He glances around as he sits up, unable to catch his breath. His eyes feel heavy, his tongue too large in his mouth. He claws at his own throat to try to get a good inhale in, but when he’s unable, he shoves his head between his knees and tries to scream.
Why can’t he breathe? His lungs hurt, ribs ache. His nails desperately dig into his skin.
“Regulus? Regulus!”
Large hands grab his face, forcing his head upright, but it’s impossible for him to breathe. The terrified tears in his eyes slip down into his lap.
The person before him swears in the dark. Suddenly, Regulus is engulfed in an embrace. The person whispers a calming charm in his ear over and over, a warm hand rubbing at his back.
“Breathe, Reg,” James whispers, soft and loving, though tinged with nervousness. So close. “Breathe. It’s okay. It’s okay now. Breathe.”
When Regulus gets a breath in finally, he gasps so loud, his brain fuzzes for a moment. His vision returns, and instantly, he finds his fingers gripping James’ shoulders so tight, the older man makes a muffled sound of discomfort.
“Good,” James says, hands in Regulus’ curls – and Regulus wishes he could have warned James that his hair is unwashed – turning his head to hold their cheeks together. “That’s it. It’s okay, baby.”
It takes several more embarrassingly large deep breathes until Regulus’ heart stops fluttering so violently in his chest, the unease in his arms and ribs slowly dissipating. All the remains are the tears that soak James’ sweater and the impending sense of horror.
“Why? Why are you here?” Regulus manages, barely above a whisper. Despite his words, he holds James tighter. “You’re supposed to be in France. Did Sirius – did he –”
“Less talking right now please.” James’ voice is stern, yet gentle. His fingers dig into Regulus’ curls, scratching softly, tugging every few swipes.
James shouldn’t be here, Regulus thinks as his vision and brain slowly clear. He blinks several times to be done with the tears in his eyes, and when he slowly draws back, he notices the awkward angle he’s put his lover in. James has his knees between Regulus’ thighs, slightly sitting up on the short sofa cushion, so Regulus immediately pulls away to give him space.
James’ hands drop to the base of Regulus’ neck to hold him steady and close as he adjusts his angle. Instead of sitting beside Regulus, James kneels on the floor before him, tilting his head so the dim light of the candles on the coffee table illuminates the side of his face. Seeing only the glare of one glasses lens and a downturned mouth isn’t enough. Regulus suddenly reaches out and grabs James’ jaw, pulling him further into the light of the candle.
He looks tired. His dark eyes are honey tinted in the light, eyelids heavy. His mouth raises into a soft smile as he turns his head to kiss Regulus’ palm, nuzzling into it with his cheek.
“James,” Regulus whispers. He’s afraid that if he raises his voice a notch, James will disappear.
“Hi, baby.”
“You were in France.”
“Took a portkey an hour ago. You were sleeping. Didn’t want to wake you.”
Regulus blinks and glances around. The curtains are still closed. “Sirius called?”
“Yes.” James puts his own large hands over Regulus’ bony ones.
Regulus allows the little light from the candle to show himself properly to James. The older man observes Regulus from his heavy lidded eyes to his peeled lips, pale complexion, and nervous ticking fingers. It is always exhilarating to be noticed by an entity like James Potter but to be broken down by him, dissected and laid flat, exposed, it’s heartbreaking.
The corner of James’s mouth twists. He’s in jeans and a sweater still, smelling like the French cold air and spice. Why is it that it seems like Regulus is seeing him after weeks and not just a mere few days?
Once he’s finished documenting Regulus’s terrible state to memory, he runs a finger over Regulus’ jaw and sighs. When he pulls his hand away, his promise ring on his third finger gleams in the gentle light.
“What is this?” James whispers, gesturing vaguely. “What’s going on?”
Truly, what even is this? What has warranted such a mess of Regulus? He had no idea how to reply.
“We were doing so good,” James says.
He’s disappointed. Yes, that’s the peculiar look on his face. Regulus wished the ground would open and yank him down to the pits of the Earth, leaving James above ground with Sirius and Remus where he belongs.
“I know,” Regulus whispers.
“Honestly, I’m a little upset, Regulus.”
Regulus just about dies, his heart sinking so far into his stomach, he wonders if it gets lost within the darkness inside of him.
James rarely calls him by his name. He’s in real trouble.
“At me?”
“Yes. You’ve hurt me a bit.”
Regulus’ lower lip wobbles. He’s hurt James. He’s hurt the only thing he loves more than life itself. He’s hurt his boyfriend.
“Oh,” Regulus whispers, taking his hands away. “I hurt you.”
James’ eyes slide over to something over Regulus’ shoulder briefly before they look back at Regulus. “What do you think has made me so upset?”
If James is going to break up with him, then Regulus wishes he’d just get it over with. There’s no point of beating around the bush or playing with words. He knows he doesn’t deserve James. Never has actually. There’s a reason why people go all wide eyed or confused whenever he introduces James as his lover. Nobody sees the compatibility between them, with James’ soft hands and gentle eyes, and Regulus’ sharp knives and teeth. It’s a miracle they’ve even made it two years.
“Regulus,” James repeats, grabbing his knees firmly to bring his attention back. “Are you listening to me?”
His name again. Oh, how Regulus despises it.
Regulus nods jerkily. “Yes.”
“What did I just ask you?”
“You asked – you asked me what I think made you mad.”
James shakes his head once. “No, darling, I asked you what’s made me upset. Not mad. I’m not mad.”
“You’re upset.”
“I am a little upset. Why do you think that is?”
Regulus is blinking back tears again. “Because I made you leave France early.”
“No,” James says immediately. “Try again, Reg.”
“Um.” Regulus searches through his foggy brain for a reasonable answer. If someone had pulled him out of such an important mission, he could have been upset. Surely, that’s a part of it. “Is it because you’re tired? And I’m not letting you sleep?”
“Still no.”
Why is Regulus so stupid? There’s clearly a right answer here.
James sighs. “What have I told you to do when you start feeling a little bad?”
Regulus wipes his face shakily. “Oh. To tell you.”
“Right.” James reaches for Regulus’ now wet hand, holding it against his knee. “And you didn’t tell me before I left.”
“It wasn’t like this before,” Regulus says. “I wasn’t bad like this before.”
James’ eyes visibly soften. He stands up, dropping Regulus’ hand, and just when Regulus thinks his lover is going to finally walk away, James reaches for Regulus’ head and pulls him into his torso. Tears fall onto James’ stomach. Regulus can feel James’ heartbeat against every part of his body that touches James’.
“You are not bad,” James murmurs, carding his fingers through Regulus’ hair again as if he’s forgotten about how greasy it is. “You feel bad sometimes, yes, but that doesn’t mean you are bad.”
“I don’t know, James. I don’t know,” Regulus whispers. “Nothing makes sense.”
“Do you know why you started feeling bad?”
“No.”
“Is it because I was leaving?”
“No,” Regulus lies. Because if he admits out loud that he wishes James had just stayed home with him, James will most definitely break up with him.
“I would have loved for you to come along,” James continues in a gentle voice. “But do you remember why I couldn’t let you?”
Regulus thinks and thinks and thinks, until finally – “Because you wouldn’t have time to be with me because you were going to be working all the time.”
“Exactly and I didn’t want you to just be left in France alone. Do you remember we had that conversation, Regulus?”
Regulus turns his head so his face is buried in James’ sweater, nose against his firm stomach. “Yes.”
“Did you feel bad when I was packing?”
His instinct is to lie, but James’ honey voice makes him feel that it might okay to tell the truth right now. James is already upset with him, the only thing that can happen is that he’ll get more annoyed, and then perhaps realize this issue is not worth fighting over with Regulus.
“Yes. In my head.”
“Can I ask why you didn’t tell me?”
Regulus scrunches his nose, shaking his head. His voice is barely audible with James’ sweater against his lips and the throbbing emotion in his throat. “You would have cancelled your trip. And I knew it meant a lot to you.”
James’ resounding silence after that only confirms Regulus’ words. If there’s anyone Regulus knows like the back of his hand, it’s James, and though his brain may be fuzzy and incapable of answering his questions at a time like this, there’s no doubt that what resides in James’ heart and mind are mirrored in Regulus’ in peaceful moments. And watching James pack, while it was not peaceful, it was not the turmoil that currently churns inside Regulus, like a fire in his lungs refusing to let him draw in a full breath. Punishing him for causing his bright, promising Cursebreaker lover to return home prematurely.
When James tugs on his curls, Regulus pulls back, raising his head to look up.
He cups Regulus’ face. “You’re right. I would have stayed. Because that’s how much I love you.”
Regulus tries to swallow. “You have a job.”
“I have a responsibility to you.”
He doesn’t have to have one. He’s made it his own problem to be responsible for Regulus, which is not something agreed on between the two of them. It’s forced onto their relationship by James who, as always, wants to fix people. He simply doesn’t understand when people are too far gone to fix.
James Potter has never once known moderation.
James’ thumbs rub under Regulus’ eyes. “And can you tell me where your potions are? I looked at what you brought, and there’s nothing. Did you misplace them?”
Regulus shakes his head mutely, unable to bring himself to speak.
“Did the vials break?”
Another shake.
“Regulus,” James says patiently. “You know I can’t read your mind.”
“I threw them out,” Regulus whispers. “Please. Please stop doing that.”
Gentle brown eyes search his face. “Doing what?”
“Saying my name like that. I hate it. I really don’t like it.”
“I need you to understand we’re having a serious conversation.”
The lump in Regulus’ throat hardens. “I know. I understand that. Just… please.”
James nibbles his lower lip in thought and obvious worry. He takes a slow breath and then continues, “Okay. I’m sorry, love.”
Love is better. Love is good. It fits in James’ mouth better than the harshness of Regulus’ full name.
“You threw the potions out,” James repeats gently. “Okay. Where? In the kitchen garbage or the –”
“I poured them down the drain.”
“You--” James sighs, the tension leaving his body with fatigue. “That’s not right. Why would you do that? You can’t do that.”
Of course all the confidence in his decision has left his body following the bouts with withdrawal panics, headaches, and lows. Now, sitting with James, it’s clear that’s made a terrible mistake, sending his body with careless abandon into a self-induced spiral. It seems so fucking stupid to say it now, but James needs to hear it, or he won’t let it go, so Regulus murmurs, “I thought I was done with them. I felt better.”
And then, as if James is a schoolteacher talking to a boneheaded child, he says slowly, “You feel better because the potions work, Reg. Not for any other reason.”
Regulus’ bottom lip wobbles as fresh tears rush to his eyes. He knows that James is trying to say that things haven’t magically gotten better for him. Regulus hasn’t magically gotten better overnight. There are still parts of them that remain rotten. “I know that now.”
“It’s quite hard to get those potions.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“We’ve got to do a whole evaluation now. What are we supposed to tell Poppy when she asks where our supply has gone?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
James lets out a long, long sigh. “Okay. Love, you’re so tired. Let’s go back to sleep and when we wake up, we’ll think of something to do about this. Come, let’s go to bed.”
“Will you come?” Regulus feels like he might break. James is so disappointed in him. If it were in James’ nature, Regulus would very much prefer anger and shouting as opposed to this quiet sadness lingering around them.
“Of course I will. I’m absolutely tired too. Come.”
He bends down to wrap an arm around Regulus waist, hauling him up manually. Weakly, Regulus leans on James’ strong shoulder, willing his legs to move. As he turns, he sees Sirius who’s leaning against the threshold of the kitchen, nerve tense in his jaw.
When James half carries Regulus past his brother, he hears Sirius mutter, “‘I’m upset with you.’ I should kick your fucking ass for saying that to him.”
But James only shakes his head and waves Sirius off, taking Regulus upstairs. By the time they arrive at the bedroom, Regulus is half asleep, body in shut down mode from all the hysterics and crying. He falls onto the bed, groaning pitifully when James pauses to remove his own shirt and pants before joining him.
James doesn’t wrap his arms around Regulus. Instead, he throws an arm over Regulus’ waist and pulls his back close against his own chest.
Lips press to the juncture of Regulus’ neck. Once more, Regulus opens his mouth to say that he needs a shower and that his hair is greasy and that’s he’s so very ashamed and so sorry about it, but nothing comes out. He falls asleep soon after.
When he wakes, he’s alone.
Regulus sits up in bed, looking into the dark distance absently until the wave of emotion tumbles over him like tsunami and he puts his hands over his face, sobbing softly. James has left. Of course he has.
Moments later, he hears commotion coming from downstairs, and with his heart in his throat, he rushes to brush his teeth and wash his face. The floor is so cold, the shock if it momentarily bars him from moving forward. He goes back to the room to find a pair of thick socks, and with his feet adequately covered, he returns to the stairs.
“James?” he calls, tiptoeing through the corridor. Muted laughter comes from the kitchen. “Hello?” He rounds the corner of the kitchen threshold and pauses.
James wears an apron and waves around a spatula instead of his wand, rolling his eyes at Remus and Sirius who are bickering by the mixing bowl. Remus is glaring at Sirius, who defiantly looks back at Remus with his hands on his hips. “Chocolate does not belong in a pancake. You’re thinking of a crepe,” Sirius says.
Remus says, “No, you French prat. I’m aware of what crepes are. Prongs, add some of the morsels, will you? I promise they’re really good.”
“Not everything needs chocolate!” Sirius argues.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
James laughs again. Then he glances over his shoulder, eyes finding Regulus. Worry immediately drowns his eyes, but he blinks away the expression a second later. “Hi. Sleep well?”
Regulus takes a hesitant step in, holding the door frame. “Yeah.”
“I’m making your pancakes. Just give me five minutes, yes?”
“Pancakes? It’s 2 in the afternoon.”
“And?”
Regulus isn’t really in the mood for pancakes, nor any type of food, but he still says, “Never mind.”
Sirius shrugs Remus off when the taller boy tries to kiss his cheek. “Annoying git,” he mutters, dropping the mixing bowl back into Remus’ hands. “Let me go talk to my brother.”
Not wanting to receive a lecture, Regulus turns on his heels to return back to his room, but Sirius catches his arm and tugs him to the dining room.
“Oi. Stop running away from me. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Stop following me.” He slips his hand away and starts to move towards the stairs. If he could just make it to his room once more…
Sirius continues stalking after him. “Reg, stop. We need to talk. Hey! You’re still in my house! You have to follow my rules!”
Regulus throws a rude look over his shoulder. “Is it a crime in your house to try to get away from an overbearing older brother?”
“Now that you mention it – yes.”
Regulus sighs, stopping at the first step. He suddenly sits down and holds his knees to his chest. “If you’re about to tell me off, I ask that you not,” he says to his knees. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”
Sirius scoffs. “Tell you off? For what? For being mentally unwell?”
“I’m not unwell.”
“You certainly aren’t well I’ll tell you that much.”
“Whatever.”
Sirius’ shoulders drop in resignation. He motions Regulus to move over and then sits beside him, hands on his knees. “I didn’t know you were taking potions.”
A part of Regulus immediately wants to retort “What’s it to you?” or “Why do you care?” but both of those are unfair and he knows this. Regulus and Sirius have long reconciled. There’s no need for that type of behavior, especially from Regulus who has forgiven Sirius many years back for running away to the Potters when things got rough at Grimmauld Place. Most days, Regulus can’t even remember why he was so upset about it in the first place, and that certainly helps when the man that helped his older brother survive is now the love of his life.
It’s not the immediate desire to be blunt and rude with Sirius that takes important in these situations. It’s not pride either. It’s defense. He and James have worked on it many times. The first fight they ever had (over something so stupid, Regulus hasn’t the faintest idea of what he could have been so worked up over) Regulus hotheadedly had said that James was simply too ashamed to be associated with the family disappointment, the only defense Regulus has queued up for most of his childhood. Normally, that was the true reason for the arguments with family and sometimes his Pureblood friends, but when James’ face crinkled with confusion instead of anger, it dawned on Regulus. James had tugged Regulus towards him by the neck of his shirt and said, “Regulus, not only is that totally irrelevant to what we’re talking about, but I don’t think that way about you at all. I respect you a lot, actually.”
“I started six months ago,” Regulus finally answers Sirius’ comment. “They’re supposed to be temporary.”
“But you threw them out.”
“Yeah.”
“Because you were feeling better.”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re clearly not feeling better, petit pin. And I would hope that you’d speak to someone before discarding vital potions like that. I thought we’ve been over this enough. People exist around you to guide and help.”
Regulus bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know what to say so he says, “Do any of them know what you’re calling me?”
It distracts Sirius successfully though the sadness in his eyes remains. “No, but they’d get what I mean. You’re just a little pine tree.” He throws an arm over Regulus’ shoulders. “All sharp and scary on the outside, but inside, Reggie? You feel so much more than the rest of us. Even me. Petit pin.”
Regulus resists the urge, but soon lays his head on Sirius’ shoulder.
“I didn’t like how James spoke to you, by the way,” Sirius says, gently massaging Regulus’ far shoulder. “When he said that he was upset with you. That wasn’t right of him. Does he often speak to you like that?”
Regulus glances up, confused. “Why does that make you mad?”
Sirius looks back at him, equally confused. “You’re unwell and then your boyfriend says he’s upset with you? He made it all about himself, Reggie.”
“He did?”
“He did. He consoled you, yes, but he shouldn’t have said that.”
Regulus blinks and takes an inch of space for himself. “Sirius, he wasn’t making it about himself. He was – it’s something we do. It makes me think clearly so that I can answer him and work through it. Or else I just stay in my head.”
Sirius searches his younger brother’s eyes. “You sure?” he says hesitantly. “I don’t care that he’s my best friend, Reggie. I’ll beat him up. Or ask Remus to do it.”
“I’m sure,” Regulus says with a roll of his eyes. “I needed that. For him to ask me why he was upset, I mean. It helps me.”
“You two are so odd.” Sirius still looks apprehensive, eyes wide and bouncing around Regulus’ face. But then he reaches over and puts his hand on top of Regulus’ squeezing softly. “But if you say so. And if it works.”
Regulus shrugs. And then, sometime later, he says quietly, “Thank you.”
Regulus eats some of his pancakes. James eats the rest off his plate, expecting Regulus to at least finish his tea. When James announces that he’ll make some soup, Remus tells him he’s already done that. Light fighting ensues when James argues that “sick” soup is not the same as “sad” soup, and since Regulus is “sad”, he needs “sad” soup.
Sirius puts on a show of defending his boyfriend’s honor, which then leads to an aggressive wrestling match between James and Sirius right on the living room floor until Remus is wrestling them apart with an exasperating look and tells James to “fuck off to the kitchen.” Which he does.
While that’s going on, Remus puts a movie on.
Tears form in Regulus’ eyes when he realizes that it’s one of his favorite movies. He can’t make eye contact with any of them, even when Sirius leans his shoulder against him. It’s too embarrassing, too humiliating. In his adult age, Regulus shouldn’t be so dependent on others to feel something.
He isn’t a child.
The silence on his part doesn’t last long because now that James is home, Regulus doesn’t wish to be parted from him. Halfway through the first scene, Regulus’ vision is so blurry from his tears, that he needs to excuse himself to go cry it out in the bathroom and then return downstairs several long minutes later with red eyes. He makes a beeline to the kitchen, finding that James is already done with dicing up the vegetables and has begun to boil the broth.
James is humming to himself softly. Regulus drags his feet to make himself known and then slithers himself around James.
James holds Regulus’ waist when he leans in, his head against James’ shoulder. The smell of cooking that previously has rendered him nauseous and irritable now settles warmly in his stomach, the spice of James’ soup wafting in the air like clouds. Regulus closes his eyes and breathes in the scent, one hand coming up to clutch the hem of James’ shirt. His boyfriend shivers when Regulus’ fingers gently glide across James’ bare stomach, the warm around Regulus tightening.
“Hungry?” James says softly.
How many times has Regulus been asked this question?
“A little.”
“Good. I’ll be done soon. Let’s eat a bit and then we can go home.”
Regulus’ eyes blink open and he glances up at James. “It’s already nighttime.”
“I know, but I just want to take you home. I think you’ll be more comfortable there.” He smiles wryly. “Also, I hate how large Sirius and Remus’ pillows are. My neck hurts.”
Without thinking, Regulus steps up onto his toes and kisses James’ neck, just under his earlobe. “Oh no,” he murmurs, and then snuggles back into James’ chest. “Okay, I can pack up.”
“I’ll help you.”
“I can do it,” Regulus says. “You’ve done too much for me already.”
Following this statement, James is quiet. It’s clear that he’s thinking, and perhaps he’s about to bring up another thing that Regulus needs to work on, maybe this one making it to the highest tip of the ever growing list, but Regulus doesn’t care. He’s learned that these jabs from James come from a deep place of concern.
The shoe, of course, drops when James rests the ladle for the soup on the counter and touches Regulus’ face with a large, warm hand, maneuvering him so his thin back rests against the edge of the marble counter. Regulus doesn’t release his shirt but tugs his taller boyfriend along so that they remain flush chest to chest.
James looks conflicted, his eyebrows in those downward curves against hat show he’s thinking deeply, but also unsure about what to say. Regulus simply looks at him, waiting for him to gather the right words.
One day, maybe Regulus will be strong enough to ask James to say the first thing he thinks of before he waters it down for Regulus, but today is not that day.
A few seconds pass. James opens his mouth and then shuts it a few times before his shoulders drop in defeat and his fingers caress Regulus’ face, drawing him in for a long kiss.
Surprised, it takes Regulus a moment to align his lips properly with his boyfriend’s. It hits him as a sudden realization that he hasn’t kissed James since he left for France, and it just seems unacceptable. Now that he can taste James, the urge to kiss him harder and longer takes siege of him, and his hands drop the hem of James’ shirt only to tangle themselves within James’ hair behind his head. He’s on his toes again, stomach to stomach, head tilted to the side to accommodate for easier kissing.
His lips slide against James’ in harmony, the satisfying sound of perfect kisses audible alongside the bubbling of the spiced soup behind him. A stirring in Regulus’ lower region causes him to break apart, though the beating in his chest and the tightening of his pants is shocking enough to even him that he laughs and covers his mouth embarrassedly.
“Felt a little too much there,” he whispers, lips against the back of his hand. “Sorry.”
James’ eyes are wide, his hair a little mussed. “Sorry?” he echoes. “What in the world are you sorry for?” James’ hands yank on Regulus’ sweater unceremoniously, and with a clumsy movement, Regulus is back against his front. “We need to ban that word from your vocabulary. Imagine your mother hearing how much you apologize to a Potter.”
Regulus pulls a face. “Please do not talk about my mother when I am in distress.”
“Oh now you’re in distress?”
One of James’ hands, the one with the promise ring, surges forward and grabs Regulus’ face, squishing his cheeks together. There’s a new type of intensity in James’ honey eyes, his vision flickering down to Regulus’ forced puckering lips. Regulus inhales sharply and messily kisses back (or at least tries to) when James lays a heavy kiss on his mouth.
“I love you,” James murmurs against his mouth, barely giving himself an inch of talking space. “Everything’s okay, right? We’ll handle all this.”
Maybe it’s James’ kisses, or maybe Regulus is finally accepting how he feels, but suddenly his limbs go heavy, and James holds up all his weight. He’s tired and broken down and sad, but he also has James, which means he has the sun. The sun is warm and gentle, holding him in its careful hands like he’s a precious thing to protect. Regulus knows the sun will never burn him or treat him wrong. It’ll be there to comfort him, something for him to rely on.
“I don’t feel good,” Regulus softly admits, pressing his head to James’ shoulder, eyes stinging with tears again. "Often. It's too much to exist." He tries to swallow the wave of feeling pathetic that nearly drowns him. “I haven’t felt good in a while.”
James holds him tighter.
“And I’m scared of it,” Regulus continues, gripping James tightly. “Feeling this way I mean. I’m really scared.”
“Oh, love,” James breathes, cradling Regulus’ head. “It’s okay. It’s okay to be scared of something like this.”
Regulus nods, sniffling. “I just – I guess I just don’t understand what’s wrong with me. Because—because I have you. And Sirius. Remus. I have friends. I have a good life. But my head is just so… it’s just too much sometimes.”
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you."
"Then why doesn't anyone else feel this way? It's only me. Sirius is fine. Remus too. They should be the ones feeling bad. Nothing's even happened to me."
James shakes his head. "It's the same reason why I love you. You feel so deeply, love so desperately. So when you feel ill, you feel that so terribly too."
Sirius said the same thing just hours ago.
“It scares me. I have everything, but I feel lonely.”
James rubs his back slowly. “You’re never alone, no matter how bad you feel, don’t you understand that? We’ve been together for years, I need you to know that.” James presses kisses to Regulus’ hair, large arms around Regulus’ head.
“Yeah,” Regulus whispers, inhaling quickly. “And -- and I’m sorry for throwing my potions away, okay? I know I need them.” The lump in his throat returns. “I just thought I was doing better and that I could be normal again.”
James pulls back, his eyes shining. His thumbs immediately go to wipe away Regulus’ tears. “There is nothing not normal about you. You are so perfect, it’s genuinely terrifying.” Then he leans down and kisses Regulus again, all shaky and hesitant. “Don’t worry about the potions. I’ll talk to Poppy for you.”
“She’s going to ask about the first supply,” Regulus whispers. “She’ll know what I’ve done. She’ll send me away.”
“Send you away?”
“To the hospital.”
James' eyes widen. “No, love. Nobody is sending you anywhere,” he protests, holding Regulus' face. “That’s simply untrue.” He laughs dryly just as a tear slides down his jaw. “You think I could live without you?"
"You've never thought about it?" Regulus asks skeptically. He twists his fingers nervously.
"Sending you to stay at a ward? Merlin, Reg, are you crazy? Wait until I tell you how much I thought about you in France. There’s only one French prat I want to surround myself with.”
He’s successful to drawing a short, timid laugh from Regulus. The rest of his tears are wiped, and then James kisses him again, mouth warm and home-like on his.
“I don’t think I could survive without you either,” Regulus whispers back, afraid to use his voice. “I want to get better. I do.”
“I know. And I know you will feel better soon. Should we go to St. Mungo’s tomorrow then?”
A sudden spark of fear hits Regulus. That’s far too soon.
James sees it on his face. “Okay. Let’s take a day to rest. I need to catch up on sleep and you need to tell me every fun thing you’ve been doing without me.”
There’s nothing that comes to his mind, but Regulus nods anyways and then nudges James for another kiss.
“I love you,” James mumbles, wrapping his arms around Regulus’ smaller shoulders, engulfing him with so much love, it’s near hard to breathe. “I wish you could understand how much.”
But Regulus doesn’t need James to mention how much because he can feel it. It’s in James’ eyes, the worry on his face, the careful, soft touches. It’s in how James responds to him, makes him feel welcomed in his own skin, how James constantly has his eyes on Regulus.
When James kisses Regulus' head, Regulus finally blurts, "I haven't washed my hair in days."
James' chest rumbles as he laughs. "Oh, my love, I really, truly don't care at all."
Things will get better, Regulus thinks as he melts into his lover's embrace. There’s simply no other option.