Work Text:
The bass thumped through the crowded bar as Regulus Black wiped down the counter with practiced efficiency, his dark curls falling into his eyes. It was a Friday night, which meant the place was packed with the usual weekend crowd—college students, young professionals, and the regulars who treated the bar like a second home.
"Reg, table six needs another round!" Barty Crouch Jr. called out, sliding past him with a tray balanced perfectly on one hand. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was that manic gleam in his eye that he always got when the bar was busy and the tips were flowing.
"On it," Regulus replied, already reaching for the bottles. They'd been working together for nearly a year now, and they'd developed a rhythm that made them one of the most efficient—and highest-earning—pairs on staff. The tips didn't hurt either, though Regulus knew full well that at least half of their earnings came from Barty's shameless flirting and his own supposedly "mysterious" demeanor that seemed to drive customers wild.
He finished mixing the drinks and delivered them with a small smile that had one of the girls at the table blushing furiously. As he turned back toward the bar, he caught sight of a familiar figure settling onto a stool at the end of the counter, and despite himself, his heart did a little flip.
James Potter. Right on schedule.
"Your boyfriend's here," Barty sing-songed in his ear as he passed, and Regulus elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Sure, and I'm the Pope." Barty grinned wickedly. "Better get over there before he starts pining away. Can't have him dying of thirst, can we?"
Regulus flipped him off and made his way down the bar, trying to ignore the way James's face lit up when he spotted him. James Potter was unfairly attractive—all messy black hair, warm brown eyes behind stylish glasses, and a smile that could probably power a small city. He was two years older than Regulus, worked in marketing or advertising or something equally boring, and had been coming to the bar every Friday and Saturday for the past six months.
"Hey, gorgeous," James said, leaning forward on his elbows. His button-up shirt was open at the collar, tie long since discarded, and he looked every bit the young professional unwinding after a long week.
"Potter," Regulus acknowledged, fighting to keep his expression neutral even as warmth spread through his chest. "The usual?"
"You know me so well." James's grin widened. "Bloody Mary tonight, I think. Had a hell of a week."
Regulus nodded and started pulling out ingredients, acutely aware of James watching his every move. It should have been creepy, probably, but instead it just made his skin feel warm and his movements more careful, more deliberate.
"Rough week?" he asked, reaching for the vodka.
"Client was being impossible. Wanted us to completely redesign their campaign three days before launch." James shook his head. "But I'm not here to talk about work. How've you been? Still putting up with Crouch's nonsense?"
"Unfortunately." Regulus mixed the drink with practiced ease, adding just a touch more horseradish than usual because he knew James liked it spicy. "Someone has to keep him from getting us both fired."
"My hero," James said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. When Regulus set the drink down in front of him, James's fingers brushed against his, lingering just a moment too long. "Perfect, as always."
Regulus felt his cheeks heat and turned away quickly, only to nearly collide with Barty, who was watching them with undisguised glee.
"You two are disgusting," Barty whispered. "Just fuck already."
"Shut up," Regulus hissed, but before he could say more, Barty's entire demeanor changed. His eyes widened slightly, fixed on something over Regulus's shoulder, and his usual manic energy shifted into something more focused, more intense.
Regulus turned to see what had captured his attention and spotted a tall, blonde man settling into a booth near the back. Evan Rosier. Barty's regular.
"Oh, this should be good," Regulus muttered.
Evan was a year older than Barty, worked as something important in finance that Regulus had never quite understood, and had the kind of effortless elegance that made everyone around him look slightly rumpled by comparison. Where James was all open smiles and obvious flirting, Evan was subtle, controlled, his interest expressed through lingering glances and dry comments that left Barty simultaneously frustrated and obsessed.
"I hate him," Barty said, but he was already smoothing down his shirt and running a hand through his hair.
"You're in love with him."
"I hate him," Barty repeated, but he was moving toward Evan's table before Regulus could respond.
The next few hours passed in a blur of orders and conversation. James nursed his Bloody Mary slowly, occasionally switching to a vodka soda when Regulus suggested he pace himself. Each time Regulus returned to his end of the bar, James would find some excuse to touch him—a hand on his arm to get his attention, fingers brushing against his when accepting a drink, once even reaching across to tuck a loose curl behind Regulus's ear.
"You had something there," James had said, his voice soft, and Regulus had frozen like a deer in headlights, unable to form words.
Meanwhile, Barty was having what appeared to be a complete meltdown over Evan's mere existence. Every time he came back to the bar, he launched into another rant.
"He asked for whiskey," Barty said, gripping the counter hard enough to make his knuckles white. "Just whiskey. No specification. So I asked him what kind, and do you know what he said?"
"Enlighten me," Regulus said dryly, mixing a martini for table twelve.
"He said, and I quote, 'Surprise me.'" Barty looked genuinely distressed. "What kind of psychopath says that? How am I supposed to know what he wants?"
"It's called trust, Barty. He trusts your judgment."
"I hate him."
"You really don't."
Barty ignored him, grabbing a bottle of premium whiskey and pouring it with perhaps more force than necessary. As he turned to go, he paused. "At least Evan isn't eye-fucking me across the bar every five seconds. Unlike certain customers who shall remain named James Potter."
"He's not—"
"Please. The man looks at you like you're water and he's been lost in the desert for forty days." Barty's grin turned wicked. "Wonder what else he'd like to do with his mouth besides drink."
The smack echoed through the bar, and several customers turned to look as Barty clutched the back of his head, laughing.
"Worth it!" he called over his shoulder, heading back toward Evan's table.
Regulus tried to ignore the burning in his cheeks as he returned to James, who was watching him with amusement.
"Everything alright?"
"Barty's an idiot," Regulus muttered.
"Seems like a good friend, though." James took a sip of his vodka soda, his eyes never leaving Regulus's face. "You two seem close."
"Unfortunately." But Regulus couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. For all his complaining, Barty was his best friend, and working together had only strengthened that bond.
The night wore on. Around midnight, the crowd started to thin out slightly, though the bar was still busy enough to keep them moving. Regulus was mixing a complicated cocktail when Barty appeared at his elbow again, looking simultaneously thrilled and devastated.
"He complimented my tie," Barty said, his voice strangled.
"That's... good?"
"Reg. He complimented my tie." Barty grabbed his shoulders. "And then—and then—he said it brought out my eyes. What does that even mean? Why would he say that? Is he fucking with me?"
Regulus carefully extracted himself from Barty's grip. "Maybe he likes you."
"No. No, that's too simple. There's something else going on here. He's playing some kind of long game, I know it."
"Or," Regulus said patiently, "he's attracted to you and expressing it like a normal human being."
Barty stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're insane."
"Says the man having a breakdown over a compliment."
Before Barty could respond, they were interrupted by a customer needing service, and the moment passed. But Regulus noticed that when Barty returned to Evan's table with his next round—tequila shots this time—he was standing a little straighter, his smile a little more genuine and less manic.
Around two in the morning, James finally pushed his empty glass across the bar with a regretful sigh.
"Should probably call it a night," he said, though he made no move to actually leave. "Work tomorrow, unfortunately."
"On a Saturday?" Regulus asked, already mentally calculating James's tab.
"Just for a few hours. Trying to make up for the disaster this week." James pulled out his wallet, but his eyes stayed fixed on Regulus. "Will you be here tomorrow night?"
"I'm here every weekend."
"Good." James's smile was soft, intimate in a way that made Regulus's breath catch. He handed over his card, and when Regulus returned with the receipt, James added a tip that was probably close to fifty percent. "Keep the change."
"James, that's too much—"
"No such thing." James stood, and for a moment, Regulus thought he might reach out, might actually close the distance between them. Instead, he just smiled, warm and genuine. "See you tomorrow, Regulus."
The use of his actual name, instead of some nickname or pet name, felt strangely intimate. Regulus watched him go, only snapping out of it when Barty materialized beside him.
"You've got it bad," Barty said gleefully.
"Shut up."
"I mean, I can't blame you. If he bent you over this bar and—"
The sound of Regulus's hand connecting with Barty's head was even louder this time, and Barty's laughter rang out across the nearly empty bar.
"You deserved that!" Regulus shouted after him.
"Probably!" Barty called back, still laughing as he went to deliver Evan's final round.
The rest of the shift passed more quietly. By three in the morning, they'd served the last customer and were wiping down surfaces, restocking bottles, and counting tips. They'd done well—even better than usual—and Regulus felt the pleasant ache in his feet that came from a busy but successful night.
"Evan asked if I'd be here tomorrow," Barty said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.
Regulus looked up from where he was organizing the wine glasses. "And?"
"And I said yes, obviously. But Reg..." Barty's usual manic energy had faded, leaving something more vulnerable in its place. "What if I'm reading this wrong? What if he's just being friendly?"
It was strange, seeing Barty uncertain. Usually he was all bravado and wild confidence, but Evan seemed to strip all of that away, leaving something rawer underneath.
"He's not just being friendly," Regulus said firmly. "Trust me."
"How do you know?"
"Because nobody drinks that much whiskey and tequila just to be friendly. He's here to see you, Barty."
Barty was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Same goes for you and Potter, you know."
Regulus felt his cheeks heat again. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because James is just... he's like that with everyone. Friendly. Flirty."
"Bullshit." Barty came around the bar to lean against the counter beside him. "I've seen him brush off at least five people who tried to talk to him tonight. He only has eyes for you, Reg. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing," Regulus said automatically. "He's a customer. It would be unprofessional."
"Oh, please. Since when do you care about being professional?" Barty's grin was back, that familiar wicked glint in his eye. "Besides, I bet Potter would love to see you being very unprofessional. Maybe bent over—"
"Finish that sentence and I'm telling your mother about the time you got drunk and tried to fight a lamppost."
Barty held up his hands in surrender, laughing. "Fine, fine. But seriously, Reg. Life's too short to not take chances on the hot guys who tip well and look at you like you hung the moon."
Regulus didn't respond, but as they finished closing up and headed out into the cool night air, he found himself thinking about James—his smile, the way his fingers lingered on Regulus's hand, the warmth in his voice when he said Regulus's name.
Maybe Barty had a point.
"Same time tomorrow?" Barty asked, unlocking his car.
"Unfortunately," Regulus replied, but he was smiling.
"Excellent. I need you there to document my continued descent into madness over Evan's everything."
"And I need you there so I have someone to hit when you say inappropriate things about James."
"It's a perfect system," Barty agreed cheerfully. "See you tomorrow, Reg."
Regulus watched him drive off before heading to his own car. Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant another busy night, another shift with Barty's running commentary and questionable jokes, another evening of James's warm eyes and gentle touches.
He found himself actually looking forward to it.
The drive home was quiet, the streets mostly empty at this hour. Regulus's apartment was small but comfortable, and he collapsed onto his couch without bothering to change out of his work clothes. His phone buzzed with a text from Barty—a string of incomprehensible keysmashes followed by "EVAN SMILED AT ME" and several skull emojis.
Regulus smiled and set his phone aside without responding. Barty would survive until tomorrow.
As he finally dragged himself to bed, Regulus caught himself thinking about what Barty had said. About taking chances. About James looking at him like he hung the moon.
Maybe tomorrow he'd actually flirt back. Maybe tomorrow he'd let himself enjoy the attention instead of deflecting it. Maybe tomorrow he'd see what happened when he stopped hiding behind professionalism and actually acknowledged the electricity that sparked between them every time their hands touched.
Or maybe he'd just keep serving drinks and pretending his heart didn't race every time James Potter walked through the door.
Either way, tomorrow would come soon enough. And James would be there, right on schedule, ordering his Bloody Mary or vodka soda and looking at Regulus like he was the most interesting person in the world.
Regulus fell asleep with a smile on his face, already counting down the hours until his next shift.
Saturday arrived with the kind of determined cheerfulness that made Regulus want to crawl back under his covers and hide. He'd gotten maybe five hours of sleep, and his alarm was personally offensive in its persistence.
His phone buzzed as he was making coffee. Three messages from Barty:
"I can't do this" "I'm calling in sick" "Never mind Sirius just threatened to fire me if I don't show up"
Regulus snorted. His older brother was technically their manager, though he mostly left them alone to do their jobs. The fact that he'd gotten involved meant Barty must have been truly dramatic in his pleading.
"See you at 6" Regulus texted back, then added, "Stop being a coward."
"RUDE" came the immediate response, followed by, "Also you're one to talk Mr. I've-Been-Pining-For-Six-Months."
Regulus threw his phone on the couch and focused on his coffee. He was not pining. He was simply... appreciating a regular customer's consistent patronage. And tip percentages. And face. And hands.
Okay, maybe he was pining a little.
The afternoon passed in a haze of trying to distract himself with errands and failing miserably. He kept thinking about the way James had said his name last night, soft and intimate, like it meant something. Kept thinking about Barty's words about taking chances.
By the time he arrived at the bar at 5:45, he'd worked himself into a state of nervous anticipation that he refused to acknowledge.
"You look like you're going to throw up," Sirius observed when Regulus walked through the door. His brother was behind the bar, restocking bottles with the kind of casual efficiency that came from years of experience. "Nervous about something?"
"No."
"Liar. Is this about James?"
"How do you—" Regulus stopped, closing his eyes. "Barty."
"Barty," Sirius confirmed, grinning. "He may have mentioned something about star-crossed lovers and workplace romance and several other dramatic phrases I've blocked from memory."
"I'm going to kill him."
"Get in line. He called me at seven in the morning to have a breakdown about some guy named Evan." Sirius leaned against the bar, studying Regulus with amusement. "For what it's worth, I've seen the way James looks at you. If you're interested, you should go for it."
"That's wildly unprofessional advice from my manager."
"Good thing I'm your brother first and your manager second." Sirius reached out to ruffle Regulus's hair, dodging when Regulus swatted at him. "Seriously, Reg. You deserve to be happy. And that guy clearly makes you happy, even if you won't admit it."
Before Regulus could respond, the door burst open and Barty practically fell through it, looking like he'd gotten even less sleep than Regulus.
"I'm here, I'm ready, I'm absolutely not having a mental breakdown," Barty announced.
"Convincing," Sirius said dryly. "Try to keep the mental breakdowns to a minimum tonight. We're going to be slammed."
He wasn't wrong. By seven, the bar was already packed, and by eight, there was a line out the door. Regulus and Barty fell into their familiar rhythm, moving around each other with practiced ease, calling out orders and mixing drinks with the kind of synchronized efficiency that came from months of working together.
James arrived at 8:30, right on schedule, and Regulus absolutely did not feel his heart skip a beat when their eyes met across the crowded bar.
"Your prince charming has arrived," Barty murmured as he passed, and Regulus stomped on his foot.
"Ow! Abuse! Sirius, your brother is abusing me!"
"You probably deserved it," Sirius called back from where he was helping a customer at the other end of the bar.
Regulus ignored them both and made his way to James, who was settling onto his usual stool with a smile that could light up the entire room.
"Hey," James said, and the simple greeting felt weighted with meaning. "Busy night."
"Always is on Saturdays." Regulus pulled out a glass. "Bloody Mary?"
"You know, I think I'll start with a vodka soda tonight. Trying to pace myself better." James's eyes twinkled. "Someone told me I should be more careful last night."
Regulus felt warmth spread through his chest at the reminder that James actually listened to him, actually valued his opinion enough to change his drinking habits. "Smart choice."
"I have my moments." James watched as Regulus mixed the drink, and when he set it down, James caught his hand before he could pull away. "How was your day?"
The question was simple, casual, but the way James was looking at him—like he genuinely cared about the answer—made Regulus's breath catch.
"Boring," he managed. "Better now."
The words were out before he could stop them, and he watched James's eyes widen slightly, his smile growing.
"Yeah?" James's thumb brushed over Regulus's knuckles, a gentle back-and-forth motion that sent electricity up Regulus's arm. "Mine too."
They stayed like that for a moment, hands linked across the bar, before another customer called for service and Regulus had to reluctantly pull away. But as he turned, he caught Barty watching him with a knowing grin, and he knew he was never going to hear the end of this.
The night continued in the same pattern—Regulus serving customers, returning to James whenever he had a moment, their conversations growing progressively more flirtatious as the evening wore on. James switched to water around eleven, but he didn't leave, content to sit at the bar and watch Regulus work.
Meanwhile, Barty was spiraling.
"He ordered tequila shots," he hissed during a brief lull. "Four of them. Reg, four."
"That's... not that unusual?"
"He asked if I'd join him for one." Barty looked genuinely panicked. "What do I do?"
"Take the shot with him?"
"But what if it means something? What if it doesn't mean anything? What if he's just being polite? What if—"
"Barty." Regulus grabbed his shoulders. "Take. The shot. Talk to him. Stop overthinking."
"Easy for you to say. You and Potter have already basically planned your wedding."
"We've done no such—"
"I saw him holding your hand earlier. That's basically a proposal in bar flirting terms."
Regulus shoved him toward Evan's table. "Go. Now. Before I tell him about the time you cried during Toy Story 3."
"That was a beautiful movie and you cried too!" Barty called back, but he was already heading toward Evan, straightening his tie and running a hand through his hair.
Regulus watched him go with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, then returned to James, who was watching the whole exchange with amusement.
"Your friend is something else," James observed.
"That's one way to put it." Regulus started wiping down the counter, even though it was already clean. Anything to keep his hands busy. "He means well."
"I can tell. You two have a good dynamic." James paused. "Though I hope you know I'm not just here for the drinks and atmosphere, good as they are."
Regulus's hand stilled. "No?"
"No." James leaned forward, his voice dropping to something more intimate. "I'm here for you, Regulus. I thought that was obvious."
Regulus's heart was hammering so hard he was sure James could hear it over the music. "Oh."
"'Oh'?" James's smile was gentle, teasing. "That's all I get?"
"I'm not good at this," Regulus admitted, finally meeting his eyes. "The whole flirting thing. I don't know if I'm reading things right or if I'm making things up in my head or—"
"You're not making anything up," James interrupted softly. "I like you. I've liked you since the first time I came here and you rolled your eyes at my terrible joke about vodka. I come here every weekend just to see you."
The confession hung in the air between them, solid and real, and Regulus felt something in his chest simultaneously loosen and tighten.
"I like you too," he said, the words coming out barely above a whisper. "I just didn't think—"
"Reg, I've been coming here for six months and have probably spent more on drinks than my rent. I think I've been pretty clear about my intentions." James was smiling now, warm and genuine. "But I get it. This is... it's weird, right? I'm a customer. You're working. There's a power dynamic thing."
"Yeah," Regulus agreed, relieved that James understood.
"So how about this." James pulled out his phone. "Give me your number. We can talk outside of here, get to know each other without the whole bartender-customer thing. And if you decide you're not interested, that's fine. I'll still come here because the drinks are good and Barty's meltdowns are entertaining, but I'll stop making things weird."
It was such a reasonable, thoughtful approach that Regulus found himself nodding before he'd fully processed the words. He took James's phone and typed in his number with slightly shaking hands, then handed it back.
"There," he said. "Though I should warn you, I'm terrible at texting."
"Somehow I doubt that." James immediately sent a message, and Regulus's phone buzzed in his pocket. "Now you have mine too. No pressure, okay? Just... if you want to talk, or hang out sometime when you're not working, let me know."
"Okay," Regulus said, and he was smiling, really smiling, in a way that made his cheeks hurt.
Their moment was interrupted by a crash from across the bar, followed by Barty's manic laughter. Regulus looked over to see Evan holding Barty's wrist, examining what looked like a minor cut from a broken glass, while Barty stared at him with an expression of complete bewilderment.
"I should..." Regulus gestured toward the disaster.
"Go." James was still smiling. "I'll be here."
The rest of the night passed in a blur. Barty had indeed cut himself on a broken shot glass, but it was minor enough that Evan helped him bandage it with the first aid kit while Barty stammered through what might have been complete sentences if any of the words had been in the right order.
"He touched me," Barty said later, during another brief moment of peace. He was staring at the bandage on his hand like it held the secrets of the universe. "His hands were so steady. So confident. Reg, I think I might die."
"You're not going to die."
"I might. This might kill me." But Barty was grinning, that manic edge replaced with something softer, more genuine. "He asked if I was alright. Multiple times. And then he told me to be more careful because he didn't want to see me hurt."
"That's sweet."
"It's torture is what it is." But Barty was practically glowing. "Best night of my life."
Around two in the morning, James finally stood to leave, though not before catching Regulus's hand one more time.
"Text me," he said simply. "Whenever you want. No pressure."
"I will," Regulus promised, and he meant it.
He watched James leave, then turned to find both Barty and Sirius watching him with identical knowing expressions.
"Not a word," he warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Sirius said, but he was grinning. "Though I expect full details later."
"I," Barty announced, "am going to get Evan's number next week or die trying."
"Please don't die," Regulus said. "I don't want to train a new partner."
"Your concern is touching." But Barty was smiling, and as they started the closing routine, he launched into another detailed analysis of every interaction he'd had with Evan that night.
Regulus listened with half an ear, his mind on the phone in his pocket and the message waiting there. As they finished up and headed out into the cool night air, Barty pulled him into a quick, unexpected hug.
"We're both disasters," Barty said cheerfully. "But at least we're disasters together."
"Unfortunately," Regulus replied, but he was smiling as he said it.
He checked his phone on the drive home. James's message was simple: "Made it home safe. Thanks for tonight. For everything."
Regulus stared at it for a long moment before typing back: "Sleep well. See you next week."
It wasn't much, but it was a start. And as he fell into bed, exhausted but happy, Regulus found himself already looking forward to next weekend—to James's smile and Barty's dramatics and the comfortable rhythm of their weekend shifts.
Maybe, he thought as sleep finally claimed him, maybe taking chances wasn't such a scary thing after all.