Chapter Text
The divine palace is bustling to the brim, voices ricocheting off the walls, footsteps passing each other efficiently and elegantly, silken fabrics flowing just past each other. As each year, there is talk about social reform and tax programs, and clear, self-righteous voices demanding more and better from the population below.
James has a headache.
He is so incredibly sick of it all.
Walking backwards on featherlight footsteps, he makes his way towards where there is sure to be an exit into the gardens, a small reprieve of calm away from the noise and oppressive atmosphere of beings who think they are above it all. Beings that are just like James yet could not feel further away from the way his mind works.
One of the doors is slightly ajar, a perfect invitation to escape that James takes up without hesitation. The garden he steps into is quite different from the ones above – he has seen the flora of the below before, of course. The plants are winding and messy, crawling over each other, blooming in all sorts of different colours and shapes, not seeming to follow a pattern. James lifts his gaze to look at the sky, a mess of swirling oranges and pinks, quite unlike the clear, bright blue of the above. A shiver runs down his spine, spreading all the way to the roots of his wings. It is colder here than he is used to, but he enjoys the feeling of it. The slight sting in the air that makes the goosebumps on his skin rise, the way that, if he manages to sneak out of the palace at night, his breath becomes visible in the cold air. It is exhilarating to feel. He strolls over to a small bench, the wood bearing the imperfections of uneven growth, of trees that never advance straight upwards, for there is no one sun to follow down here.
“What are you looking at, dear? You need to pay attention to the proceedings. One can never start preparing for their future too soon.”
The young boy tore his eyes away from the window, through which he had been following a small bird picking at the flowerbeds outside.
“I’m sorry, mum. The plants are just so pretty, here.”
The woman’s eyes softened, kindness always prevalent on her beautiful face. “They might be pretty,” she tutted, “but they are imperfect. You will have enough time to play in the gardens once we’re back home.”
Even hours after the conversations, the boy couldn’t help his eyes straying back to the windows. Just in the privacy of his head, he thought that maybe imperfection could be something good. Something beautiful.
James leans back on the bench to gaze at the sky some more, the tips of his feathers dancing across the plants behind him. If his mother could see him now, she would be giving him a sweet smile, telling him to be careful. An angel is not supposed to come into contact with anything living in the below, not as long as it is alive. Even the plants may have impurity in them that might be dangerous to touch. Euphemia Potter, of course, is not here to coax him away. He would have never made it outside undetected if his parents were here. It is James’ first time alone at the conference, his parents not here to warn him off wandering. So, he wanders.
Behind the garden, he finds some hallways, empty of discussions and footsteps. He keeps walking and opening doors, peering into storage closets and guest rooms – the occupants are all at the conference, as he should be. He himself is inhabiting one of these rooms for the next two weeks, though it is in a different wing. His room isn’t locked either, of course. Demons are banned from the palace, so what is there to be afraid of?
As James approaches the end of the hallway, he reaches for the single door that sits at the final wall, opening it into fresh air. From here, he can see down the hill and into the town at the foot of it. He knows this is where the palace gets their supplies for the yearly conference, though he has never seen it up close, of course. Angels are never supposed to set foot among demons, so they stay in the palace as they meet with the wingless to make decisions. James feels a strange pull deep in his gut as he sees the small buildings and the smoke coming from the chimneys. His mother has always told him that demons are very unlike angels. They can get angry and vicious, lose their temper over the smallest things. They have marks on their skin, whether from birth of from injury. They don’t have golden hair; their skin is duller and colder than that of angels. They are flawed. They are imperfect.
James thinks of winding flowers and swirling skies and crooked trees, and the pull in his gut intensifies. Longing.
“Mum, have you ever met a demon?”
“Of course not. Why are you asking?”
“I’m curious.” A pout. Soft, warm fingers tangled through his blonde locks to placate him.
“Curiosity killed the cat, James.”
The boy didn’t think that was quite right.
He steps back and closes the door. With a sigh, James walks back to the conference. Without his father here, he has to meet with some of the officials soon. Fleamont Potter’s role was never very big or important, his wealth stemming from his company rather than his position in the order of angels. But nevertheless, the role must be filled. And the Potter’s only ever had one child. There is no one else to do this but James, now that his parents are gone.
---
Later in the evening, when the halls have quieted and the palace has gone to sleep, finds James unable to quiet down his head. He feels restless, turning this way and that in the soft linen of the guest rooms. Way too soft, really, the magic of the cleaning spells pulling at his skin uncomfortably. It doesn’t take him long to decide to abandon any pretence of sleep and silently walk down the halls, a clear destination in mind. The door.
The view is different at night, the village seeming just as asleep as the palace behind him. The occasional light illuminates small buildings along the more central roads, likely taverns and pubs open late for visitors. James feels the grass beneath his bare feet, tickling his toes as he walks down the hill. He pulls the cloak around him tighter, the only thing he thought to grab on his way out, even foregoing shoes. But he knows he needs to hide his wings, obscure his shining hair and cover up as much of his gleaming skin as possible. An angel in a demon village could cause problems.
The hike down into town is a short one, the distance seemed deceptively wide from the top, yet James wasn’t walking for more than fifteen minutes by the time he set foot on cobble roads, the stone edges uneven but smoothed out from decades of use. James is careful, stepping on the less askew stones to keep his balance, while trying to drink in as much of his surroundings as he can. The buildings are wholly unlike the ones above, no smooth marble and stone in sight, no perfect, pristine surfaces, no polished diamond windows. The houses he walks by are primarily made of wood, some weathered from age, some slightly leaning as if their foundation hadn’t been properly secured before they were built. The windows are covered with shutters, some letting just the smallest bit of light through the gaps in its craftsmanship. One particular house James lingers in front of for just a bit longer has a small window box, it looks blue in the night, but it might be green. James can’t tell with the lack of lights around him. The box is bursting with all kinds of flowers and vines, pruned not to overflow, but left to grow and intertwine wildly inside the container. James thinks that the inside of this house must always be warm and welcoming, no matter the time of year.
As James keeps walking, he approaches one of the illuminated houses, a crooked sign over the door reading ‘Black Tavern’, which he reckons is a bit of a foreboding name. The building, however, looks entirely too welcoming. James doesn’t dare to go inside, too scared what being around demons would mean – would they immediately recognise him as an outsider? Would they attack him, try to rob him? James didn’t bring any of his belongings, but the silent scary stories about ugly demons and their violent ways make James swerve into the backstreet behind the tavern, even though, logically, he knows those stories can’t really be true. Not when their houses look so much warmer than the ones above.
What James didn’t expect was the lack of emptiness in the backstreet, though he should have thought about the possibility that some patrons may hang around an establishment rather than stay inside. James has never thought himself particularly insightful, though. So, crashing into a body right as he turns the corner and having to catch himself on a wall as he stumbles back is par for the course, really. He isn’t surprised by that. No, it barely fazes him when he hears a hissed “watch where you’re fucking going” from the ground in front of him. It also doesn’t surprise him that the body he bumped into ended up on the floor, really. James works out, and he is quite tall, after all. It feels natural to stick out his hand, a sheepish smile making its way onto his face as he looks down at the person below.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“, the person looks up, and time freezes. And, along with it, James does too.
“Demons are not like us, James. They are dangerous.”
Sharp angles, an aristocratic nose, dark eyebrows narrowed in an annoyed scowl.
“They don’t have golden hair like us.”
Dark, black curls that snake around ears, fall into an eye, lightly kiss the side of a cheek.
“Their skin has marks on it. It isn’t flawless like ours.”
Dozens of tiny flecks of brown smattered over soft cheeks, the bridge of a nose, illuminated by the back light of the tavern.
“They don’t have divine magic. You can see it in their eyes.”
A deep, wild grey. The deep swirling of thunderclouds just before they part for the sun to peek through. It doesn’t rain often in the above, but James has loved it since he was a child.
“Demons are imperfect.”
James has never seen anything more beautiful.
He is ripped out of his paralysis when the stranger ignores his outstretched hand to stand up on his own and wipe his hands off on his trousers with a suspicious glint in his eyes.
“Who are you? I haven’t seen you around before.”
Oh, and even his voice sends shivers down James’ spine. It rivals any sound he has ever heard in his life. The stranger raises an eyebrow at his silence, so James quickly tries to compose himself and answer, lest the man leaves.
“I’m not from here. I’m James”, he tries, putting on his best smile and lifting his still outstretched hand for a shake, “nice to meet you.”
“Regulus”, is all he gets in return, the other’s eyes narrowing in on James’ hand as if it offended him, somehow. James quickly pulls it back into his cloak, and the other man’s – Regulus’ – eyes stray down to his bare feet. His brows furrow even more than before.
“It’s cold tonight.” His voice is monotone, as if he is commenting on the weather. Well, actually, James supposes that is exactly what he is doing. The angel’s smile only widens at the opportunity to keep talking to the other man. He feels more exhilarated than he ever has in his life.
“I like the cold.”
“You’re not wearing shoes.” Impossibly, his brows only furrow deeper. James has the inexplicable urge to smooth them out with his thumb, but he manages to resist just so.
“A slight mishap.”
Regulus closes his eye for a few seconds, seeming to debate something in his mind, before he lets out the most longsuffering sigh James has ever heard come out of a person. Regulus looks back up, grabbing James’ arm through his cloak, and starts to pull him along further behind the tavern without a single word. Realistically, James knows he should be worried, should resist and go back to the palace right about now. James has never thought himself particularly insightful, though. As it is, he lets the shorter man drag him to a separate door at the back of the tavern, watches him pull out a bundle of keys to unlock the door, and lets himself be ushered up a set of stairs, through another door, and through a small entryway into what looks to be a kitchen. There is a small, wooden counter along one wall, edges well-loved and scuffed, a clunky stove with a compartment for wood to make a fire underneath the top unlike the magic-powered one in his own home, a large cabinet, and what looks to be a more primitive version of the fridges James is used to in the above. James adores it. He relishes in the way the chair he is unceremoniously dumped into by Regulus gives a low creak under his weight, and feels himself become giddy at the feel of the uneven wood of the table under his fingertips. The breakfast nook in the corner of this small kitchen lacks any and all finesse, perfect edges, and flawless marble that would be customary in the above, and James can feel the way his heart picks up speed as he watches the most riveting creature he has ever seen flit around the space and heat up the stove.
Several minutes of silence later, a small, steaming mug is set down in front of James, but he is having trouble tearing his gaze away from the still-scowling face of Regulus. He wonders idly what the other man would look like with other expressions on his face, and finds himself longing to cause those features to open up.
“Drink. You must be freezing”, Regulus mumbles once he realises James isn’t going to move out of his own volition, to which James just smiles and picks up the mug with a murmured thanks. He doesn’t dare to tell him that he loves the feel of the cold, instead sipping at the tea in his hands happily while the other man watches, still standing.
“Do you have anywhere to stay?” Regulus speaks again once James finishes his tea, his eyes flitting up and down from his bare feet to the cloak covering the entire rest of his body. James has half a mind to lie, if only to stay in this man’s presence longer.
“Uh, yeah, I do”, he says instead, “I just forgot my shoes when I went out for a walk earlier.”
Regulus’ eye twitches almost imperceptibly as he takes a seat on the chair across from James. “You… forgot?” He sounds disbelieving and slightly amazed, as if he is sitting in front of an alien creature. Of course, he kind of is, but he doesn’t know that. James just lets out a chuckle.
“Yeah, I’m a forgetful person.”
“Clearly.” God, how James wishes that scowl away.
“So, do you work at the tavern? Is that why you live up here?”, he tries, hoping to crack the tension and initiate a proper conversation.
“Something like that.”
James just leans forward, expectation clear on his face. He is nothing if not patient. Regulus lets out another one of those deep, weary sighs before he apparently decides to give in.
“My brother and I own it. The tavern. I only stay here during the week, because I do the late shifts, and I don’t want to walk all the way back home at night. But I usually go back in the mornings until my shift starts.” James nods along happily, his smile widening with every word he gets to hear from the other’s lips.
“That’s cool, that you run your own business. It’s really admirable”, he answers once Regulus is done speaking, eliciting the scowl that had slightly eased to come back in full force. The tips of his ears however, to James’ absolute delight, turn a faint pink.
Abruptly, Regulus stands up and walks back into the entryway, James immediately following like a lost puppy. He watches the other man bend down to pick up a pair of slippers, before pushing them into James’ chest.
“They’re not ideal, but it’s better than walking home barefoot”, he says, voice taking on a strict tone as he tacks on, almost to himself, “forgot your shoes. Ridiculous.”
James can’t help the giggle that escapes him as he shuffles his feet into the slippers hastily, hurrying to get out of the door Regulus is holding open for him. He won’t overstay his welcome, and he knows a dismissal when he sees one. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s had enough of the other man quite yet.
“I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”
“No need.”
The door slams shut right in his face.
James feels like he is walking on clouds all the way back up to the palace.
---
The following night finds James shuffling back and forth in front of the small back door, having knocked quite a few times already. This time, he didn’t forget to put on his boots, though he did miss the smooth rock under his feet on the walk here. It’s not even remotely what brought him back to the village, though, so it doesn’t really matter. He cradles the pair of slippers close to his chest, looking back and forth between the door and the alleyway. Just as he considers knocking again, movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention and he turns to see Regulus walking towards him, stopping abruptly as their eyes meet.
“You.” Ah, of course. James, over the course of the day, has half convinced himself that he must have imagined just how beautiful the other man is, but one look into those storm-grey eyes is all it takes to send his mind reeling.
“I brought your slippers”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper as he holds them out with am expectant smile. Regulus sighs deeply as he steps forward and grabs the slippers from James’ hands.
“I told you it was fine.” James just shrugs in answer, smile widening on his face as Regulus fumbles with his keys. The shorter man raises his head and scans James with a scrutinising look. “Do you want some tea?”
James, of course, jumps at the opportunity.
---
“You again. I’m pretty certain I didn’t lend you anything this time.”
A bright smile.
“I’m just really craving some tea.”
Regulus sighs deeply and shakes his head, yet he holds the door open for James anyways.
---
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“I really like your tea, Regulus. You’ve kind of gotten me hooked.”
Regulus doesn’t look like he buys the excuse in the slightest, but he still lets him inside. Smiling to himself, James thinks that the demon is too soft-hearted for his own good.
---
They sit at the kitchen table once again, both with teas between their palms now. Regulus keeps glancing up at James between each sip, his every-present scowl intensifying.
“Why do you never take off your cloak?”
James shifts, his eyes wandering all over the kitchen to avoid the other’s scrutinising eyes.
“No real reason”, he mumbles, bringing his tea to his lips again as a distraction. Regulus just hums, the corner of his lips tugging up slightly as he puts down his cup. Distracted by the movement of his mouth, James doesn’t register Regulus’ arm shooting out until he feels the hood suddenly slip from his head, exposing his hair. The demon freezes, his eyes widening as he looks up at the golden locks. James can feel his heartbeat pick up in his chest, his hands around the teacup growing clammy.
“I’ve never seen hair that colour”, Regulus mumbles, rubbing a strand between his thumb and pointer finger seemingly without really registering it. James clears his throat, his leg bouncing under the table – he’s not even sure if the pattering of his heart is due to nervousness at being discovered or the physical contact.
“It’s, ah, genetic. My parents had the same hair”, he just throws out as an explanation. It isn’t technically a lie, really. Regulus takes in a small gasp, barely more than a normal breath, yet enough to make James properly look at him again. His eyes have a strange look to them, the grey a bit darker than usual as his lips pull slightly downwards. James feels his stomach drop through the floor, wondering what he said wrong.
“Had?”, Regulus whispers, and oh. That. James just shrugs, avoiding eye contact once again.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They were sick for a long time, so it wasn’t a surprise. It was better, really, the last few months were rough for them.” It’s the same thing he always says, his constant internal reasoning to keep himself from wishing things had been different.
Slowly, soft skin glides along James’ fingertips, climbing across the back of his hand, finally settling firmly on top. He holds his breath as he looks down at Regulus’s hand covering his own, squeezing lightly. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be sad.”
James feels himself heating up, a warmth spreading through him from his hand all the way to his chest. It’s a different kind of warmth from what he is used to in the above, it runs deeper, loosens something inside him. It’s like a flood breaking free, tears freely flowing down his cheeks and small hiccups escaping his throat. He grips the table with his free hand, trying to keep himself from shaking as every emotion he’s been keeping himself from feeling bubbles to the surface. The soft hand never once leaves his.
Once the tea is finished, James makes his way to the entrance behind Regulus, the subdued mood still hanging over them.
“I’m not here on the weekends”, Regulus speaks up as James slips into his boots, fidgeting with one of the dark curls that often hang into his eyes.
“Can I come back on Monday?”
Regulus nods and sends him off with a smile. It’s barely there, but James cradles it close to his chest all weekend, as he feels the time slip between his fingers in the palace. Come Saturday, he will have to go back home. Every cell in his body rebels at the thought.
---
James tries his best to ignore the approaching end as he keeps visiting Regulus. They sit at his tiny kitchen table, comfortable silences and hesitant chats between them as the late hours tick over into morning. Monday and Tuesday go by in a trance of giddiness and an increase in small smiles aimed at him by the demon. Maybe it’s that comfort, the affection that’s only growing with each second spent in the other’s space that makes James slip up. Maybe it’s just bad luck. The reason doesn’t really matter to James as Regulus turns around from the stove with two mugs in his hands and a soft expression on his face that morphs into shock as the ceramic shatters on the floor. James winces, trying to catch Regulus’ gaze, but he fails. Those grey eyes are fixed lower, full of terror and panic. James follows them, and oh. He should have been more careful, but there’s no turning back time. His cloak is snagged on the chair behind him, exposing a part of one of his wings right by his thigh.
“Regu-“
“You’re an angel.” James hadn’t even noticed how much warmth was present in Regulus’s voice when talking to him until it was gone. There is none now, his tone icy and detached.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just wasn’t sure how-“ He doesn’t get to finish again.
“Leave.” Panic shoots through James as he gets up, his hands raised in a placating gesture. He takes a step towards Regulus, apologies and pleas on his tongue, when the other winces backward, making James freeze in his movement.
“Please just hear me out”, he whispers, the desperation in his voice clear as day even to himself.
“I said leave.”
There isn’t any room for discussion, then. James retreats, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.
“I’ll come back”, he says, right as he steps out of the door. It’s the first time he opens it himself.
“Don’t.”
---
Regulus doesn’t show up on Thursday, no matter how long James waits. He drags his feet back up the hill in the early hours of the morning, defeat resting heavy on his shoulders.
---
James feels restless and too big for his skin as he walks back and forth in front of the small back door of the tavern. The carriages to take them back to the above will arrive after breakfast tomorrow, and opting out isn’t a thing. He’s not allowed down here unless the conference is active. Trying to calm his racing heart, James slides to sit down against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees as he tries to regulate his breathing. It doesn’t work, with each minute Regulus doesn’t show up, his breaths come harder and the blood rushing in his ears becomes louder.
“Sitting on the dirty floor of an alley? Not very becoming of a divine being.”
James’ head snaps up in an instant, all the air leaving him at once. His tone is mocking, and his eyes aren’t back to their usual warmth, but Regulus is here. And he doesn’t look scared anymore.
“Regulus.” It comes out in a whisper, and the demon doesn’t acknowledge it, turning to the door to unlock it. James’ stomach plummets in dread as Regulus steps inside, expecting the door to slam shut behind him. But it doesn’t.
“Are you coming?”
James’s heart soars as he scrambles to get up and follow Regulus up the stairs and into the small kitchen. He can’t keep his grin contained when the man gestures to one of the chairs and starts to make tea, despite the clear tension in the room. This is a chance.
It takes a while, but James patiently waits to say anything until the tea is set down in front of him and Regulus has taken a seat in his usual chair. There are a million words on his tongue, but Regulus speaks before any of them can slip out.
“What do you want?”
That’s not quite what James expected, but he guesses it’s as good a start as any.
“What do you mean? I don’t want anything”, he answers earnestly, though he is not sure it’s the truth. He wants many things from Regulus, but he suspects those are not the kinds of things the other is talking about. Regulus just scoffs.
“You’re an angel. You’re not even supposed to be here. Even the wingless only interact with us when they want something from us, so what are you looking for? What could I possibly give you that is more important than your prissy little gathering up the hill?”
Okay, so James guesses this could be going better, after all. He picks up the cup of tea to give himself time to evaluate how to best answer the demon. He supposes that I want to worship the ground you walk on or I want to eat you whole are not the best contenders to deescalate the situation. James is not a very insightful person, but he isn’t a complete idiot either. Putting his cup back down, he chances a look up at Regulus’ face. There is annoyance, clear as day on those enchanting features, but also something else underneath. Hesitance, maybe. Hope, if James lets himself be delusional. Maybe simple will be enough.
“I want to spend time with you.”
Confusion replaces the annoyance, and Regulus cocks his head to the side. If James wasn’t so nervous, he might coo at the adorable gesture.
“Why?”
James shrugs. “I like you.”
“You like me”, he deadpans, a hand coming up to ruffle his black curls in what James assumes to be disbelief. Possibly frustration. James leans forward, putting on the softest smile he can manage.
“I like spending time with you. Does there need to be any other reason?”
A long-suffering sigh. Regulus is outstandingly good at those. The subtle pink at the top of his ears gives him away, though.
“I suppose not. You’ll be gone tomorrow anyways, won’t you?” The reminder is like a stab to the chest, but James still manages to answer in the affirmative before he takes a gulp of the hot tea to replace the emotional pain with physical one.
“Well, what do you even do at that stupid conference? Tell me about it”, Regulus says, some of the casualness of previous days leaking back into his voice as he leans back with his tea in hand, “Oh, and take off that stupid cloak. It’s not like I don’t know what you’re hiding beneath it now anyways.”
James does. He shrugs it off and puts it over the back of his chair, stretching out his arms and wings for the first time inside this room. If he didn’t know any better, James could swear that a light blush falls over Regulus’ cheeks as his eyes dart over the angel’s exposed arms and large pair of white, feathery wings. However, it’s gone within a blink, and Regulus relaxes into his chair as James starts telling him about the divine palace and the above, so James must have imagined it.
When the first hints of sunrise come through the window of the cozy room, Regulus gets up and stretches, making his way towards the entryway in a clear sign of dismissal. James can’t help the growing sense of dread that settles in him with every step he takes towards the door, truly taking root by the time he slips into his boots.
“I’ll be back for next year’s conference”, he whispers, arms itching to pull Regulus into a hug, desperately wanting to feel the smaller body against his, craving another taste of the warmth he felt when Regulus held his hand.
“That’s quite a bit away.” It sounds like a dismissal.
“But I’ll be here”, James insists, “and I’ll come back. I’ll visit you the moment I can.”
Regulus smiles, and while it is the most visible one he has given him since they met, James doesn’t like it as much. It feels melancholic. Nevertheless, James drinks it in. He scans every feature of that sharp yet soft face and commits it to memory, desperate not to forget any of it in the long months that will go by before he can see the other man again.
By the time Regulus reaches to open the door, James doesn’t feel like he’s had enough time. But time has never waited for James to spend enough time with the people he loves, and it doesn’t seem to change its course now.
“Goodbye, James.”
He doesn't get to hug him.
James can’t tear his eyes away from the village below as the carriage brings them back home. Even when the clouds swallow it up, he keeps looking. Imagines the clouds darker, a stormy grey rather than the obnoxious white of marble.