Work Text:
It was starting to become something of a running joke — at least to everyone except Remus Lupin and Regulus Black.
“Oi, what’s his problem?” James whispered as he watched Remus stalk past him, a sharp glare fixed on his face, hoodie pulled up like a shield against the world.
“Dunno,” Sirius muttered. “But Regulus looks just as bad.”
Because right behind Remus was Regulus, scowling and stomping along, arms crossed tightly over his chest, practically radiating "don't talk to me" energy. It was always the same week, every month like clockwork — right before the full moon. And no one really got it, except them.
"Are— are they... in sync?" Peter had asked once, eyes wide as they watched Remus and Regulus collapse onto one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room, both bundled up in massive jumpers and fighting over a blanket like feral cats.
James had snorted. "What, like a couple of girls?"
But neither boy laughed when Sirius tried to jokingly ask about it.
Remus just fixed him with a sharp look. "You really wanna have this conversation, Pads?"
Regulus, curled under a mountain of knitted throws, muttered darkly, "Not everything is your business, Sirius."
And that was that. No one dared ask again.
What none of them knew — what none of them could know — was that both boys were fighting battles no one else could see.
For Remus, it was the inevitable slow crawl toward the moon — every month his body tightening, aching in ways no potion ever fully stopped.
For Regulus, it was the monthly reminder that he wasn’t quite what his family expected. That his body didn’t always feel like it belonged to him. That it hurt, and bled, and fought him at every turn.
But somehow, together, it was... easier.
“Baby, you look like death warmed over,” Remus murmured, sliding onto the couch beside Regulus one evening.
Normally, Regulus would bristle at the nickname — but from Remus? It sounded safe.
“You look worse,” Regulus grumbled, leaning into him anyway, cold hands sneaking under Remus’ jumper like they always did when he was clingy.
Remus just sighed and tugged him closer. "D'you bring the chocolate?"
Regulus gave him a look, pulling out a bar of Honeydukes' best. “Obviously.”
Remus smirked. "God, you're perfect." If Regulus blushed a bit — well, he’d blame it on the cramps.
It was bizarre, how fast they fell into this quiet rhythm.
Regulus was the only person Remus would share his emergency chocolate stash with — the one he usually hoarded like a dragon.
Remus was the only one Regulus would let touch him when his body was at war with itself, his walls down enough to let Remus rub circles into his back when the pain got too bad.
The other Marauders walked into scenes that left them speechless: James, staring wide-eyed at Remus spooning Regulus on the common room couch, both buried under what looked like every blanket in Gryffindor Tower.
Sirius, catching Regulus wearing one of Remus’ over-sized jumpers, sleeves falling way past his hands, curled against Remus' chest, purring like a satisfied cat.
Peter, watching Regulus hiss at someone for taking Remus’ last bit of chocolate, before calmly handing it over to Remus like it was always meant to be his.
It didn’t make sense.
“Why do they act like that?!” James had burst out one day, watching as Regulus casually slid into the seat next to Remus at breakfast, stealing Remus’ toast like it was his, and getting a sleepy smile in return.
Sirius had been glaring too. “They’re not even dating, mate.”
“Are you sure about that?” Peter had whispered, eyes wide.
Because, at this point, the line between “friends” and something more was so blurred it felt like trying to see through fog.
What no one knew — what not even Remus fully realized — was that for Regulus, Remus had become something safe, and maybe... something more.
When Remus would pull him closer on bad days and whisper, "You're alright, baby. I've got you."
When Regulus would bury his face in Remus’ scarf and inhale deeply, because it smelled like chocolate and old books and something warm.
When Remus, without even thinking, would block the sun with his body while Regulus napped in the common room, keeping him shaded.
And when Regulus, in a rare soft moment, had reached up and brushed Remus' hair out of his eyes, whispering, "You're the only one who gets it."
It took one particularly bad week for it to click.
They were both curled in Remus’ bed, curtains drawn tight, a heating charm humming quietly around them.
“Reggie,” Remus murmured, brushing his thumb gently along Regulus’ cheekbone.
“Yeah?” Regulus whispered, voice small.
Remus hesitated. "You're the only one I can stand on full moon weeks. You're the only one who knows what it's like... y'know... to hate your body like this."
Regulus let out a soft breath. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like I’m not broken.”
They stared at each other, too close, breaths mingling.
And in that moment — somewhere between exhaustion and quiet understanding — something shifted.
Regulus reached out first, fingers curling into Remus’ jumper.
“Stay?”
Remus leaned down, pressing his forehead against Regulus’.
"Always."
From then on, nothing was really said, but everything was different.
Regulus was still “Baby.”
Remus was still his safe place.
But now, when they curled up under blankets, Remus’ arm was around Regulus’ waist — and sometimes, fingers laced together.
James and Sirius never figured out when exactly it happened.
But when they caught Regulus pressing a soft kiss to Remus’ temple one morning — well, they figured it out fast.