Chapter Text
The bell above the café door gave a sharp little jingle, cutting through the low hum of espresso machines and the quiet scratch of pencil against Regulus’s notepad. He didn’t bother looking up. Only one customer ever entered Leaky Brews with that much chaotic energy before ten in the morning.
“Morning, sunshine,” came the too-cheerful voice, smug as the scrape of nails on glass.
Regulus closed his eyes, counted to three, and only then lifted his gaze. There he was, James Potter in all his messy-haired, bright-eyed glory, unpeeling gloves with his teeth and leaving damp footprints across the tiles.
“It’s eight a.m.,” Regulus said flatly. “People are trying to forget mornings exist.”
James leaned against the counter, elbows propped up as though he owned the place. His grin widened. “Then lucky for you, I’m here to remind you they do.”
Regulus exhaled through his nose and reached for the order pad, already bracing himself. “What do you want, Potter?”
“My usual,” James said, eyes sparkling. “Triple-shot caramel macchiato, oat milk, extra foam, half-sweet, dash of cinnamon, stirred counter-clockwise exactly six times. The tears of joy from a freshly adopted puppy, and magic dust. Oh, and whipped cream! But only if it looks like a little cloud.”
There was a beat of silence. Regulus tapped his pen against the paper. “Do I look the type to keep puppies on my person?”
James tilted his head, thoughtful. “You sure there's none in the back?”
“There's about to be a shoe up your backside, check there.”
The laugh that burst out of James was far too loud for the quiet café. A woman in the corner scowled over her laptop. Regulus pretended not to notice.
“You love making my drinks,” James said. “Admit it.”
Regulus scribbled the order onto a slip in his elegant, spiky script and slapped it on the counter. He didn’t even bother calling it out. The other barista, Mary, would know exactly what it meant: Potter’s nonsense order. Make something tolerable.
“See, that’s affection,” James continued, leaning closer, conspiratorial. “You only insult the people you like. That’s how it works, isn’t it?”
Regulus raised one brow, deadpan. “If that were true, you’d be my soulmate by now.”
James blinked. For one delicious second, he looked caught off guard, like Regulus had actually shut him up. Then that ridiculous grin returned, brighter than before.
“Careful, Black,” he said softly. “That almost sounded like flirting.”
Regulus turned his back on him, gathering mugs with a deliberate clatter. He didn’t dignify it with a response. James had been coming to Leaky Brews for three weeks now. Regulus knew because Sirius had made a whole production of it, waltzing into the shop with James trailing behind like an overeager puppy, declaring, “Reg, this is my mate James. He’ll be coming in all the time now, isn’t that brilliant?”
It had not, in fact, been brilliant.
James had taken to haunting the café like it was his second home. He’d show up with a laptop bag, order something absurd, then sprawl across a corner table with Quidditch magazines, textbooks, or whatever messy pile of notes he carried around. Sometimes he’d fall asleep there, head tipped back, glasses askew, snoring lightly until Regulus or Mary nudged him awake. And yet, Regulus couldn’t deny the faint shift in the air when James wasn’t around. The mornings felt quieter. Too quiet. Like something annoyingly bright had been snuffed out.
He hated that he noticed.
By the time Regulus delivered the drink (plain cappuccino, no frills), James was already typing away on his laptop, muttering to himself. Regulus set the mug down with a quiet thunk.
“Here.”
James glanced up, eyes lighting. “Thanks, love.”
Regulus froze. James didn’t even seem to notice what he’d said, he was already back to typing, brow furrowed in concentration.
Love.
It was casual, tossed off like it meant nothing. But Regulus’s pulse betrayed him, quickening despite himself. He straightened, shoved his hands into his apron pocket, and forced his voice to sound detached.
“You’re insufferable.”
James hummed distractedly, already lost in whatever paper or project he was working on. Regulus stalked back behind the counter, telling himself it didn’t matter. That it was just James Potter being James Potter. And that he absolutely did not care. The morning crowd trickled in, office workers needing lattes, students with messy buns ordering americanos, Sirius swinging by just to annoy him.
By half-past nine, the café buzzed with chatter. Regulus moved like clockwork, taking orders, pulling espresso shots, sliding pastries onto plates. His world was clean, ordered, efficient.
And then James laughed.
Loud, unabashed, golden.
Regulus didn’t even mean to look. His head turned automatically, eyes drawn across the room. James was leaning back in his chair, hand in his hair, chatting animatedly with Sirius. Something about the way his whole face lit up, it was infuriating. Unfair. Like he carried the sun with him everywhere he went. Regulus tore his gaze away, jaw tight. He didn’t need the sun. He didn’t need warmth. He was perfectly fine in the shadows.
And yet, when James waved at him from across the café, grin wide and stupid, Regulus found himself almost smiling back.